


Is He Lucky?

by Corvidaedric_Prince



Series: The King's Leap [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Bad Puns, Bilingual Character(s), Bisexual Female Character of Color, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, If you read this on another site it has been stolen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Misogyny, Misogyny, Neurodivergent Character(s), Not Beta Read, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Smoking, Swearing, goblincore, modern references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:01:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29867463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvidaedric_Prince/pseuds/Corvidaedric_Prince
Summary: Josefina "Fin" Becker is just an average woman living in 2019 when she gets mysteriously transported to the world of Fallout. Utilizing her knowledge along with every trick up her sleeve, follow as Fin navigates the post-apocalyptic hellscape of the Commonwealth. A tale of pride, power, and the journey into BDSM.
Relationships: Deacon (Fallout)/Original Female Character(s), John Hancock (Fallout)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The King's Leap [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2195895
Kudos: 3





	1. If You Don't Keep Your Feet

_“…there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”_

_The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien_

**October 10, 2019**

“Oh I’m feral now!” Hancock yelled as a laser hit him in the shoulder. Ducking down behind a boulder, he lobbed a grenade into the knot of Gunners in front of him. “Boom!”

“Fuck ‘em up, honey bunny,” Fin murmured under her breath as she whipped out the Restraining Order. The explosive shotgun obliterated the Gunner in front of her. _Ooooh! What a main event…_

A buzzing from her phone on the coffee table tore her out of the game and she spared an irritated glance down at it. That was all the window a Gunner Captain needed to close with her character. The blow he dealt staggered her, and in her panic, she pulled the trigger. 

There was a reason she’d given that particular shotgun its name. As a helpful reminder. One that she almost never heeded. The explosion annihilated the Gunner, and unfortunately, her own character. 

“Oh fuck me,” she complained quietly, tossing the controller onto the couch cushion beside her as she glared at the phone buzzing insistently. It should not be ringing this early. 

She didn’t even need to look at the screen to know who it was. “Hi mamá,” she said, her voice raspy from disuse. 

“Despierta te! Josefina, you told me you were leaving at seven. Va ser muy tarde quando llegas, baby.”

What time was it? Fin took the phone away from her ear to look at the screen. _Shit, after eight already._ Why couldn’t an hour only ever be an hour?

Fin pushed her untidy, black curls out of her face as she hurried to shut the TV and PS4 off. “I’ve been up. I’m almost out the door.” She gave the little pile next to the front door a cursory once over, having gotten everything ready the night before. “And it won’t be, mamá, it’ll be dusk at the latest,” she said wearily.

“Pues, no mija, don’t let Wesley drive too fast either. We worry about you the whole time.”

“Mamá, I told you. He couldn’t get the days off, so I’m driving. But I’ll pick him up at the airport on Saturday morning. No te preocupes.” She knew asking her mother not to worry was useless. Growing up an only child had been lonely occasionally, but at least she’d had her mother’s never-ending fears as her constant companion.

“Well why can’t he drive? It’s dangerous for a woman, mija.”

Fin sighed, her thick brows pinching together. “He’ll be too tired from work, it wouldn’t be fair. And besides, I’ll be fine. I have my pepper spray and I’m only going to take pee breaks at gas stations, promise.”

She balanced the phone between her chin and shoulder and pulled on an Iida sock from the unfolded laundry on the couch as she half listened to her mother’s stream of worries. She rummaged around for the other one, but in her rush settled for a Bakugo. No one would even notice the mismatched socks with her boots on. 

As she pulled on one of the leather boots and zipped it, the phone slipped out under her chin and bounced softly on the carpet. Her mother’s tiny voice chirped on. Fin pulled her purse across her chest and hefted the embroidered, canvas travel bag over her shoulder before putting the phone back to her ear. Her mother hadn’t noticed her absence. 

“And Rebecca’s cousin was never the same after.” Fin had clearly missed a lot, but she couldn’t get into that right now.

“Ok, mamá. I’m heading out the door now, ok? I’ll check in when I stop.. for…” She had stepped out into the hallway of her apartment building when she noticed a sound like TV static. “What the fuck?”

“Josefina!” her mother admonished, her soft voice sharp.

The crackling sound steadily grew louder and Fin covered her ears with her hands, dropping the phone once more. She grit her teeth and groaned, the noise absolutely nauseating. A violet light permeated her closed eyelids and a strong gale pulled at her hair. Her breath whooshed from her lungs and the last sight of her world was the grubby, tacky carpet as she was sucked into the snapping void.

In moments, the hallway stood empty of everything except a cell phone laying discarded next to the open front door of apartment 111. “Mija? Josefina?!” Esperanza’s tinny voice cried out uselessly into the carpet from the fumbled phone.

*

Fin’s eyelids fluttered as she gradually regained consciousness on a cold metal floor, the room humming faintly around her. “Fuck, I must have had too much to drink last night.” She rubbed her fists against her eyes. Wait, what _had_ she done last night? She couldn’t remember. That was something she should definitely remember. Whatever it was, it had kicked her ass. She felt like she’d fallen off a roof. Everything hurt. 

She opened her eyes and immediately closed them again, her face screwing up against the fluorescent lighting. Opening them a sliver, she took stock of her surroundings through her eyelashes. It looked like some kind of industrial storage room. The air was cold, but stale. 

Despite the chill, her skin was damp and feverish, the cold settling over it. “Where am I?” She started to panic, her breaths rapid and shallow as her brown eyes darted around. 

Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she sat up. Her keys were still threaded between her fingers, the Vault Boy keychain smiling with one eye open as he assessed the situation. She dropped them and crossed her arms over her knees. Her clammy forehead rested against her arms, blocking everything out. “My parents’ 30th anniversary, that’s right. Did I get roofied at the party?” That seemed unlikely. “No, I don’t think I even made it to the party. Did I get kidnapped after I left my apartment?” 

She looked around her. The embroidered travel bag her mother had given her was there, sagging slightly on top of the few things she’d packed; exactly enough clothes for the few days back home, toiletries, charger, a well worn copy of Watership Down, and her parents’ anniversary gift -- a bottle of Santa Teresa Rum. Though, she didn’t imagine anyone would consider the bag much of a boon. But she still had her purse too. Weed, cash, cards, and all. Her engagement ring glinted every time it caught the bright lighting, so that hadn’t been taken either. “Maybe kidnappers don’t always take your things?” She’d never been kidnapped before after all.

Having calmed slightly, Fin took her first good look at the room. What she had thought were just storage cabinets were actually big pods, the control panels next to each one flashing angrily. _That’s probably not good._ Getting to shaky legs, Fin fell back over with a shriek when she saw what was inside the pod. 

A decaying skull slumped against the glass face. Bits of yellowed, putrefying skin stuck to the glass. The rest of the occupant’s face presumably lied congealing down at its feet. Worry creased her brow as she whipped around to look at the foot of each pod. The smell of 200-year-old corpse soup didn’t seem like something one could possibly miss. Her eyes needed to confirm for themselves though that the pods weren’t leaking. 

That concern easily assuaged, Fin turned back to the corpse in front of her. “It’s just a body. It can’t hurt you. It’s not scary,” she reminded herself, trying to breath a little deeper. Most of the hair and tissue had sloughed off, staining an oh so familiar blue and yellow jumpsuit. A jumpsuit that perfectly matched the one Vault Boy wore as he smiled up at her from the keyring.

“No way,” she breathed. “Am I in a vault? Am I… in Fallout?” A nervous laugh bubbled from her lips. Fin grit her teeth, wishing she could bite it back. Laughter did not belong down here among the dead.

Silence settled back in. Or near silence. The fluorescent lights buzzed and flicked, and a soft hum came from the pod down at the end of the row. _The Sole Survivor. T_ _his is definitely 111._

Nora looked pristine, like she might wake at any moment. Her face was frozen in a grimace though, little icy teardrops dotting her cheeks. Which meant... "Poor Nate.” Fin approached cautiously, her heart thrumming. 

His skull lolled back against the once white cushion, stained with his ancient brain matter. Standing on tiptoe, Fin peered down into the pod to make sure there wasn’t a set of tiny bones as well. “Nope, that asshole is long gone," Fin said with a frown.

Moving away from the grisly scene, Fin sat down cross-legged on the metal floor. She curled her fingers thoughtfully at her lips, furrowing her brow. “So that means it’s… between 2227 and 2287.” She snorted, “That’s helpful.” 

“I need to find that Pip-Boy. If it’s even here,” she added darkly. Rubbing her clammy hands together, she tried to muster her courage. _Let’s go exploring._

Creeping quietly, Fin listened for any noises other than the eerie thrum of the vault. She could hear skittering in the next room. _Radroaches. I need a weapon._ Looking down at her purse, she considered whether it could work. But it was too small. It wouldn’t pack much of a punch. “I think I’ll poke around, wonder if there are any pistols like in game,” she mused quietly.

Any 10mm pistols were long gone, but she did find a .22 pistol, which in her opinion was even better. Growing up in Idaho, she had spent a fair amount of time around guns, but always found that her .22 pistol and scoped .22 rifle were her favorites. They used the same ammo and didn’t try to knock over her diminutive frame. She only ever went target shooting, so the low caliber had never mattered. 

There was a holster for the gun, which she looped through her belt. A security baton sat atop some yellowed papers strewn across a desk. Admittedly, she hadn’t shot a gun in awhile, so she picked up the baton as well. She should conserve ammo until she could practice; shake off some of the dust. She crept through the eerie hallways brandishing the thin baton. 

The telltale skittering of radroaches emanated from a room containing some simple, metal beds. Tiptoeing in, she raised the baton and swung down as hard as she could. The radroach didn’t even know what had happened. The other immediately sped toward her, hissing as it sprang forward. She hit a home run. _Ha, this is easy!_

Fin enthusiastically killed every radroach she came across, like a strange dog loose in a pasture, hunting for the first time. The gooey radroach carcasses didn’t look nearly so sad as that streaked red on soft, white wool had though. In no time the vault was secure.

Finally locating the entrance, she spied the Pip-Boy near a bare skeleton clothed in a white lab coat. Shaking the tibia from its strap, Fin wiped the dust from the Pip-Boy screen. She slipped it onto her wrist, her small forearm straining under its clunky weight. “Damn, this thing's heavy.”

It didn’t help that the smallest setting still left the device riding up and down her forearm. She took it off in frustration. “Fuck it, I’ll keep it in my bag. A smart phone would be better,” she grumbled. Speaking of, she couldn’t find her phone. “It wouldn’t be much use here anyway, I guess.” 

She flicked the dial forward, trying to find the map and date. _April 01, 2282 11:36:07 AM_ . Fin blinked at the screen, before conceding wryly, “Sure, sure. What a big fucking joke.” _But 2282 huh?_ Some things would probably be different from what she had experienced in game. She’d have to be cautious.

Doing a full sweep of the vault, she gathered anything useful. Medical supplies, empty bottles and containers, ammo, etc… She placed her own things in the pile and then organized everything into categories: Essential, Would be Nice, and I Can Always Come Back For This. 

She filled several bottles with water from a fountain. Taking a large gulp, she waited for her stomach to deliver the verdict. After half an hour, its only complaints were of hunger, so she decided the water would suffice. She wrapped the tops of each bottle in some plastic and string she had found. The bottles were nestled securely in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from home. She tested the weight of her canvas bag and decided that would be it. Her purse was stuffed full as well. 

Everything was packed and ready. Ideally she’d get some rest and leave in the morning, but there wasn’t any food in the vault. Her stomach rumbled even thinking of eating. She couldn’t be sure how much time -- and space -- had passed since her last meal. There was the crumby granola bar she kept in her purse for emergencies, and of course the radroaches, but she wasn’t quite that desperate yet. 

Besides, there was just one last thing to do. Fin sighed. The worst had been saved for last. Gathering all of her hair in one fist, she wound it around a few times, before letting it go. She had to do it. 

Since getting engaged, Fin had been growing her hair out for the wedding, only three months away now. “Three months out then,” she corrected herself. She and her fiancé, Wesley, had enjoyed a long, luxurious engagement, meaning they hadn’t started stressing about setting up the circus until absolutely necessary. 

Her eyes filled with tears and she combed her fingers through the long, black curls. She didn’t straighten her hair often, but when she did, it just barely touched her hips, like a mermaid’s. When left to their own devices though, her mischievous curls coiled every which way, stopping just below her elbows. 

A few fat tears leaked onto her freckled cheeks, and she breathed out raggedly. “That’s enough.” She stepped out of her clothes and set them on a nearby desk to keep them hair-free. The first curl fell to the floor, and was soon followed by the rest. 

As a teenager, she had devoured every graphic novel the local library had. Reading through an issue of Birds of Prey, she had come across the line ‘A woman that cuts her own hair is not to be trifled with.’ 14-year-old Josefina had reread the line several times with furrowed brow and decided then and there, that would be her. She had cut her own hair ever since, suffering through some trial and error before honing the skill. 

So the little pixie cut didn’t turn out half bad. She ran her hand over her cropped hair feeling naked for the first time since she’d stepped out of her clothing; no thick curtain to shrink behind. “Nothing to grab me by either,” she corrected herself determinedly. 

Hopping into one of the showers, she quickly rinsed the stray hairs stuck to her skin. Having redressed, Fin made her way back to Nora’s pod one last time. Studying Nora’s still face, she wondered to herself, “This isn’t a paradox situation is it?” Fin’s focus shifted to her own round, anxious face reflected faintly in the glass. “Am I the player character now? Should I kill her?” she muttered quietly, before quickly admonishing herself. “Jesus Christ. Half a day in the Commonwealth and I’m already contemplating cold-blooded murder.” 

She sniffed. “Cold-blooded,” she said, glancing around at the silent cryo pods. “Tough crowd,” she conceded with a frown. “No, I think I’ll leave you here for now, Nora. I’m not too good with technology.” The keypad had been a mystery, so it remained untouched.

Fin looked over the supplies stacked neatly on the platform with satisfaction. “You couldn’t have picked a better time to abduct me Universe,” she smiled toward the ceiling. 

Just as she was about to plug the Pip-Boy cable into the console, something occurred to her. Without this device, Nora wouldn’t be able to get out. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I guess I have to make a trip to Vault 88 at some point.” She looked thoughtful before adding, “And come back with food in case she wakes up before I get back.” 

She stepped onto the platform, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. “Don’t worry, Nora. I won’t forget.” The platform whisked her upward toward the world she had lived so many lives in. Fin was ready for her final playthrough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written anything before, so please do not hesitate to let me know if I missed tagging anything. I'd like everyone to be safe, if not happy, while reading <3  
> Also, the Spanish translates as follows:  
> Wake up  
> It's going to be very late when you get here  
> Well, no daughter  
> Don't worry


	2. Why Is A Raven Like A Writing Desk?

_Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll_

**April 01, 2282**

Fin thought that she knew what to expect from the game, but the reality was so much worse. There was no color left in the world. Rocky grays and the tans of dead brush spread out endlessly before her. Pockets of crumbling buildings and charred trees were the only variant in the desolate scape. 

Up close, she could discern little clumps of green among the dead brush, but not enough to break up the beige valley below her. Kneeling down, she gently coaxed a single shoot away from the rest, easily recognizing the little plant. _Looks like Alfalfa, that’s promising!_

It had begun to sprinkle, so Fin took shelter in a nearby camper. The raindrops made a pleasant plinking sound against the metal roof as she peered out the broken windows. Her stomach let out a rumbling growl, reverberating in the metal shell. She searched through the desk and file cabinet for anything useful, finding a few caps, a screwdriver, and some 10mm ammo. No food though. 

Affixed to the wall was a locked med kit. It looked like a simple lock, but she didn’t have any bobby pins. “Would that even make a difference?” she asked herself honestly. She considered the kit for a moment before forcing the screwdriver into the lid, and prying it open. She could hone her technique later.

There was a stimpak, an IV bag labeled ‘Radaway’, and a can of purified water. Somehow, they found places in her already stuffed bag. Fin traced the embroidered violets on the canvas bag with a finger. She loved the travel bag, but she would need to find something with a little more utility. 

The shy sun peaked through the gathered clouds as the rain finally let up. Fin was just about to head down to Sanctuary Hills, when she wondered, “Has Deacon already started watching the vault?” She hefted her pack onto her shoulder, and warily headed toward the hidey-hole’s location in game. 

Sure enough, the little nook was right there. It consisted of a small metal table and an orange chair missing most of its padding. _Deacon’s poor little hiney!_ A few stubby candles had melted onto the table, but otherwise it was bare. A blue cooler sat nestled in the dry grass underneath. Fin wrenched it open. It was empty though, except for a book. 

She dropped the opened cooler onto the ground and sat down with a sigh. A thick plank of wood wedged between two tree trunks shielded the little camp from view. She definitely hadn’t noticed it from down by the vault. The scrawled railsign on the weathered plank was fading, but she could still make out the symbol for ‘ally’. It looked like the place hadn’t been visited in awhile; a thick layer of dust laid over everything.

A loneliness crept over Fin then. There wasn’t anyone looking for her in this whole world. This set up was for Nora. 

Fin enjoyed solitude. And being with Wesley was like being alone. In that rare, sweet way. But she supposed she never had been alone before, not like this anyway. 

Her parents weren’t perfect and they drove her nuts sometimes, but they all loved each other, more or less. She had only recently moved from her hometown, so even though she had been living on her own for awhile, her mom and dad had never been more than a short car ride away until a few months ago. She and her fiancé were each other’s only friends in the strange, new town, and she still had her best friend, Taylor, back home. The three of them had all known each other for so long that even with the distance, she hadn’t found her small circle of friends lacking.

Gulping back the despair, she stoically told herself, “It’s time to make some new friends.” Fishing a wrinkled sheet of paper from the pack, she settled herself at the little table. Flipping it from the side listing the vitals of the occupant of cryo pod C8, Fin drew a blank looking at the bare sheet. 

She couldn’t reveal too much, in case the note was intercepted, but she also needed to pique the spy’s curiosity. That seemed crucial. Fin absently picked up the book from the cooler as she ruminated.

“Hmm, ‘The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe,’” she murmured. The book was missing its jacket, which was just as well. The cover had probably been a deep, stygian black when new, but 200 years had grayed it somewhat. The embossed raven on the cover still shone in gold flake though, as well as the cursive lettering on the spine. 

Glancing around at the burnt tree boughs, Fin let out a sigh of relief that the only corvid peering at her was the one on the cover. It was apt, really, that he was reading Poe while spying. _The watchers_. They had that in common.

After a moment, Fin’s face lit up, the message appearing like a fortune cookie in her mind’s eye. Her tongue poked between her teeth as she tried out several different anagrams. “Mo Trinket? No, too obvious,” she said dismissively. “Trite Monk?” Funny, but confusing when considering Deacon’s own moniker. She didn’t want him getting off track.

Signing it was another problem. In game, she always picked ‘Whisper’ as her alias, but since Tommy Whispers was hopefully still alive, that might be confusing. After some brainstorming, she settled on:

**_Watcher_ **

**_Rotten Kim_** **_thinks you and the scavengers should start a book club._**

**_Meet me,_ **

**_Wraith_ **

She read the short note over a few times, and decided it would suffice. Folding the sheet into a little boat, she placed it in the center of the blue cooler. The book somehow found a place in her pack. After all, it was a beautiful copy. And why leave clues for any would be snoops? Deacon would know, and that was all that mattered. Besides, Fin would give it back.

Probably.

She put the cooler back in its place and was about to head down to Sanctuary when she remembered to leave a railsign. Picking up a sharp-ish rock, she scratched the symbol for ‘deaddrop’ on the lid of the cooler. Deacon was sure to notice the mark instantly. She nodded, satisfied with her work and headed back toward the vault before veering east, trotting down the gentle slope toward Sanctuary.

The little suburb was quiet, except for a faint buzzing sound. Tiptoeing to the side of one of the ruined houses, Fin carefully peaked out toward the noise. Down the street, a Mister Handy bot hovered near a decrepit house, sanding what was left of the faded, blue paint from the ancient wood. “Codsworth,” she breathed quietly. 

Looking back toward the vault, Fin decided she could clear the distance if he ended up being hostile. Stepping out from the cover of the house with her empty hands raised slightly, she shouted down the street to him. “Hey!” One of his eye stalks swiveled in her direction. “Are you friendly?”

He stopped sanding, all of his eye stalks focusing on her. Slowly hovering toward her, he called out in a jolly, English accent, “Welcome, welcome! Are you new to the neighborhood?”

Lowering her hands, Fin shuffled her feet a bit, glancing at the mailbox next to the house she stood near. A faded name could still be made out faintly. “Yes I am. I’m, uh, thinking of moving into the Ables’ old place,” she gestured toward the ruined house. 

“Splendid, splendid! Bit of a fixer upper there,” he said, his gaze shifting away from hers, “but I’m sure you’ll be happy here. And mum will so enjoy having someone her own age in the neighborhood. I’m afraid young Shaun and myself aren’t always the kind of company she needs. And sir is away so much. But what a delight!”

“I’m excited to meet her,” she said with a sad smile. Codsworth didn’t notice the shift in expression though. “The neighborhood seems pretty quiet.”

“Ah, well, everyone seems to have gone up to the vault because of the nuclear explosions. I don’t blame them, simply dreadful things. But I expect they’ll be back any moment, it has been 204 years, five months, and nine days after all, ha ha!” His laugh had a desperate edge to it. “And once they’re back, we’ll put the neighborhood to rights in no time!” he exclaimed, his former cheer returning.

“It certainly is a nice, little spot, worth fixing up I think. What can you tell me about the area?”

“Our little hamlet is safe and quiet, I make sure of that. There _are_ those ruffians in Concord. But after the thrashing I gave them, I don’t imagine they’d come up here,” he chortled. Before she could ask anything else, her stomach interrupted with a drawn out growl. She excused herself sheepishly. 

“How rude of me, I haven’t even invited you in. Forgive my poor manners; I’m a tad rusty.” He zoomed behind her, ushering her toward Nate and Nora’s house. “I can whip something up in no time. How do you take your tea?”

*

Fin had her doubts about post-apocalyptic cuisine, but Codsworth was a pro. His pincers were a blur as they worked. The teakettle was pulled from the stove just before it began to whistle, and a steaming mug of loose-leaf, floral tea was set on a coaster on the coffee table in front of her. 

Although the house and furniture had been damaged, it appeared that Codsworth had repaired everything. It would never look as it did, but everything in the house was serviceable. Blowing on her tea, she said earnestly, “Codsworth, you keep a lovely home.” 

“Thank you, miss! You should have seen it before the bombs fell. It was the pride of Sanctuary Hills,” he sighed, his voice wistful.

“I bet it was. And it seems that remains true to this day.” He half-heartedly swatted a pincer toward her, but seemed pleased nonetheless. “I noticed you have power and running water, how did you manage that?”

If possible, the bot’s expression became cagey. “Well, I uh, borrowed, as it were, a few things from the neighbors. But I found most of what I needed in Concord, which is how I came across those curs in the first place." He shook a pincer for emphasis.

Fin snorted, “Hey, I won’t tell if you don’t,” miming a zipper across her lips.

Codsworth laughed nervously. “Thank you, miss,” he replied, sounding relieved. “The hors d’oeuvres are served.” He set a small tray on the coffee table in front of her.

“Wow! It looks wonderful, Codsworth!” It really did. Somehow he had put together a beautiful charcuterie; diced melon, whole tarberries, and sliced mutfruit were interspersed with shelled silt beans, carrot sticks, and some kind of thinly sliced meat. Fin savored the aesthetic feast in front of her before tucking in. The spread disappeared in just under two minutes, washed down with the last of her tea. 

“Codsworth, that was divine,” she sighed, sitting back content. 

“Happy to be of service,” he said with a slight bow.

“You just happened to have everything for an elegant charcuterie?” she asked, skeptic even though the evidence had been stuffed in her face.

“I keep the fridge and pantry stocked for when sir, mum, and young Shaun come home. I’m sure they will be quite peckish. They’ve been away for so long now,” he sighed sadly.

“I’m sorry, Codsworth. It must get pretty lonely out here without your family. I just lost my whole family, so I…” She couldn’t even get the words out before her face creased into a suppressed sob. “I’m sorry,” she choked out wetly.

“There, there dear. Don’t fret,” the bot cooed, “I know my family will find me, maybe we can find yours?”

She caught her breath, the few tears sufficing for now. “Thanks Codsworth.” She snuffled a bit before changing the subject. “So,” Fin cleared her throat, making to tuck her hair behind her ear before realizing it too was gone. She ran her hand over the back of her head to cover the movement. “What do you do with the old food?” 

“Oh, well I take it out for the local wildlife, which is how I get the meat for the freezer. Tonight was mole rat, in imitation of prosciutto.”

This surprised her. Fin was not an adventurous eater. She always tried to be polite about it, but she did have some things she refused to eat. Bell peppers and celery were out because of their crunch and smells - cooked was begrudgingly tolerable - and any “weird meats”. She’d been brave and tried a nibble of turkey heart once, but hadn’t been able to choke down the bite. 

Had she known at the time… the meat would have been left untouched. But it had been good! So she was grateful she hadn’t thought to ask. “It was an extremely close approximation. Well done,” she said emphatically.

Codsworth refilled her mug a couple times as they whiled away the hours visiting. But when the sun finally came out from behind the clouds again, Fin decided to explore a bit. Codsworth accompanied her to a couple of houses, but before long his ingrained schedule pulled him away. His anxious murmurings trailed behind him, up the steps, and into the house. 

Fin systematically went through the remaining houses, organizing the objects Codsworth had passed up into categories. She could definitely see the potential here. 

She meant to secure her lodgings before dark, but kept coaxing herself forward. “Only three houses. Only two houses now. There’s still time, I can get the last one.” And of course, she ended up angry with her past self as she made her way through the dusky light. 

She headed toward the house near the big tree at the end of the lane. Going around to the backyard, she spied a cast iron cellar door hidden among some mutfruit bushes. When she went to open the door, it wouldn’t budge. 

“Fuck,” she murmured. It really didn’t surprise her; it served her right for putting off such a crucial task. “I’ll go check the piles,” she sighed. 

Stomping through the front door, she immediately headed to the little stack of miscellaneous items she had categorized as ‘Specific Circumstances.’ It was made up of keys, documents, and personal effects that didn’t fit anywhere else. She found a keyring with several keys on it and headed back to the bunker hopefully. 

Fitting each key into the lock twice, she soon found that none of them worked. She threw the keys down in frustration, but quickly picked them up, not wanting to lose them in the dying light. They were put back in their place among bleached photos of the long dead.

The vault would do for the night. She headed toward Codsworth’s house, as she had begun to call it in her head. “I’ll say goodnight first,” she thought as she made her way toward the only lit house on the block. Rapping lightly against the splintered, wooden door, it took only seconds before Codsworth opened it. 

“Ah, good evening, Miss Fin!”

“Hi Codsworth, I just wanted to let you know I was heading back to my lodgings for the evening, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Well, actually,” the bot said hesitantly, “I was going to catch you before you left to ask, well, if you wouldn’t mind staying here. Just for the night, if you were so inclined. I so enjoyed having a civilized conversation with someone other than myself." He tapped two pincers together as he chuckled nervously. 

Fin couldn’t help laughing, “Of course, Codsworth. I would be delighted. I’m new to the area, and you’re my first friend.”

The bot seemed to swell with pride. “And you are my first friend in oh, over 200 years now, miss.” He sniffed a bit, and Fin looked at him fondly.

“Wow, well I’m honored,” she said solemnly.

Codsworth locked the door behind her and immediately began fussing, making sure she was comfortable. She could certainly get used to this. Become a fat, house cat, sitting pretty at the end of the world. But, she decided then and there that she wouldn’t; this was not the wasteland. It was certainly out there. Fin would lower her horns and meet it head on.


	3. Sprangleberry Pie

_The Land: Forging by Aleron Kong_

**April 02, 2282**

It was just after sunrise and the valley was still until a gunshot rent the air. Two more quickly followed before everything was quiet again. Fin approached her mangled targets. “Not too bad for being out of practice,” she said with satisfaction. She set the rusted cans back up along the fence, and stepped back even further. She hit all three even from that distance. 

On the last shot, the can spun up into the air, and she tried to hit it but missed. “Well, I should be ok as long as my enemies stay perfectly still,” she thought ruefully, biting the inside of her cheek.

The few remaining bullets convinced her that was enough practice for now. Reloading the clip, she clicked it back into place before settling the gun in its holster. She decided to see what Codsworth was up to and headed back toward the faded blue house. Wiping her feet on the ancient mat, she stepped inside. 

“Ah, Miss Fin! I hope you thrashed them soundly,” he chuckled. He promptly placed a plate of molerat bacon and sliced mutfruit on the countertop in front of her and resumed polishing the already gleaming silverware.

She tucked into the meal, smiling brightly at him, “Thanks! What are you doing today, Codsworth?”

“Well miss, the house is just in disarray. I apologize that you’re seeing it like this. The windows need washing, the floors sweeping…” 

Fin looked about the tidy house as he rattled off his chores for the day. Everything looked immaculate to her eye. She interrupted just after ‘the fridge needs rotating’. “Codsworth, we’re friends right?”

He hovered slightly higher, still polishing the silver. “Why yes, miss,” he replied buoyantly. 

“Well, sometimes friends have secrets together. Let’s play hooky; explore a bit. I won’t tell anyone.” He was about to protest, but she went on, “Just across the bridge, we won’t be gone long.”

“It would be a dereliction of my duties to leave the house in such a state.”

She chuckled, “I don’t think anyone would accuse you of that, Codsworth. This place is pristine.” He seemed to puff with pride as he considered for a moment. “Pleeeeaaase?” she pleaded with a hopeful grin.

“Well, alright,” he replied gruffly. 

“Yes!” she said with a fist pump. She decided to leave her pack, taking only her pistol since they weren’t going far. 

As they stepped out into the street, Codsworth looked back at the house anxiously. “We’ll only be gone an hour tops,” she assured him. “And I’ll help you when we get back to make up the lost time.”

His eye stalks swiveled toward her as he replied, “That is unnecessary, miss. But I appreciate the sentiment just the same.”

The longest part of the journey was the trek across the rickety bridge. Codsworth glided easily above the surface, but the ancient wood protested with each step Fin took. The dark, murky water beneath her made her stomach do cartwheels. Shaking slightly, she was grateful when they reached the other side and her feet touched down on solid ground. She followed cautiously behind Codsworth as they approached the Red Rocket truck stop. 

Her ears strained for a woof or whine as her eyes raked hopefully over the dilapidated lot, looking for any sign of Dogmeat. She cautiously entered the building and it was soon apparent he wasn’t there. Fin sighed dejectedly; she’d really been looking forward to finding him. Her father’s allergies had never allowed her to have a dog growing up, and as an adult renter making a pittance… well, there were other ways she’d rather spend her money. 

Fin kicked a piece of rubble lightly across the concrete floor. The place had been pretty well picked over. “By Codsworth most likely,” she thought with a wry grin. She did find a mostly full tin of mentats in one of the desks as well as a fully stocked first aid kit. The bot wouldn’t have had use for any of these things. There was also a shotgun with two boxes of ammo hidden beneath the front counter. “Sweeeet!” she exclaimed. The gun was much too big for her, but she could definitely trade it for something that fit better. 

The closest trader she could think of was Trudy at the Drumlin Diner, or maybe the Abernathys. “Hey Codsworth, have you ever heard of a farm run by a family called Abernathy? Or a trading post at the Drumlin Diner?”

“I know of the Drumlin Diner from before the war. Sir and mum used to take the car out there before going to the drive in theater on Saturdays, while I watched young Shaun.” He sighed nostalgically. “The car. It was so handsome polished and waxed. The jealous looks the neighbors would give them when they took it out,” he chortled. 

“But you don’t know anything about it from this century?”

“I’m a bit out of touch with the world, I’m afraid. I never wander very far from home, in… in case they come back.”

Fin nodded understandingly and continued her scavenging. There was nothing else of note really, so she packed her loot in a toolbox and hefted the shotgun over her shoulder. The gravel crunched under her boots as she stepped back out into the dirt lot.

She noticed the price of gas on the sign and turned to Codsworth, “No wonder they only took the car…” She didn’t finish her sentence as something suddenly sprang from the dirt beneath her feet.

Fin couldn’t help the scream that tore from her lips. Pain jolted up her spine as she fell back onto her ass. The toolbox and shotgun clattered to the ground. The toolbox sprang open, scattering its contents across the dirt. Gravel dug into her palms as she scrabbled backwards toward the doorway, kicking out at the hissing molerat. The oversized rodent latched onto her boot and she cried out, “Oh fuck!” 

“Language, Miss Fin,” Codsworth admonished blithely as his saw easily severed the molerat’s head from its body. He picked the now still creature up by its tail, holding it away as the blood drained from its body. Fin backed up even faster as the head bounced once, then twice toward her. “Hmpfh, I suppose I won’t need to do the grocery shopping tomorrow. A productive outing after all,” he said chuckling.

Fin sat panting in the dirt for a moment, her head falling between her legs as she held her knees. She looked up, about to thank Codsworth, when her eyes widened. Her mouth went dry and this time no scream left her. A deathclaw had crept up silently from between the prickly hedges, no doubt attracted by the noise and fresh blood. 

It crossed the distance in no time at all, rearing up behind Codsworth. Just as Codsworth noticed the mask of terror on Fin’s face, the beast swept him effortlessly aside with one enormous, clawed hand. The bot hit one of the station pumps with a loud crash and lay still in the dirt. 

The beast’s nostrils snorted as it picked up the discarded molerat with its glistening, razor sharp teeth. Tossing it into the air, its jaws snapped around the tiny creature, its throat expanding slightly as it swallowed the carcass whole. Its enormous head bobbed as it coaxed the molerat down its gullet. 

Fin’s mind was screaming at her to move, to run, and it was a moment before her body reacted. She scrabbled backwards toward the doorway and turning, managed a kind of crawl run into the truck stop.

The deathclaw’s cold, reptilian eyes fixed on her, it’s long tongue snaking from its mouth, scenting her fear on the air. It leapt toward the entrance, one of its clawed hands stretching through the entryway toward her. Ramming against the doorway, it bellowed in frustration at its prey’s proximity. The building shook. Fin stumbled through the doorway to the garage, her panicked eyes never leaving the creature. 

Shakily, she took a few steps toward it, remaining just out of reach as she pulled her little .22 pistol from its holster. Her first two shots hit the wall. The third hit the deathclaw’s scaly hand, but it was as if a pesky fly had landed on it for all the good it did. The beast began trying to force its broad shoulders through the doorway, its claws gripping the doorjamb. She unloaded the clip directly in its face, but this just seemed to piss it off more. 

Enraged, it roared. Strands of spittle hit Fin in the face as a wave of fetid breath washed over her. She tried not to, but her stomach heaved and the breakfast Codsworth had dotingly made her splashed onto the floor. The cozy morning felt like a lifetime ago. But Fin couldn’t think about that now. 

She replaced the empty pistol in her holster before wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. Glancing at the large, front windows, she wondered how long it would be before the deathclaw realized that might be a better fit. “Not long apparently,” she thought, gritting her teeth as it seemed to read her mind, its gigantic head swinging toward the window next to it. 

Extricating itself from the doorway with some difficulty, it pushed its way through one of the large, broken windows, indifferent to the glass scraping its thick hide. The shards shattered, crunching as the ravening creature climbed into the truck stop. Fin had already retreated further into the garage as the creature began trying to ram its way through the interior doorway. 

Glancing behind her, she noticed the bright red button that presumably opened the garage door. It had in the game at least. It was lit, obviously powered; maybe the garage door would open. She’d be able to get out, but then what? 

The enormous creature would easily overtake her even at a sprint. She might be able to climb up something, out of its reach. She was small; there were a lot of places she could get into that others couldn’t. But she rejected that idea as well as she didn’t know if deathclaws could climb. With those claws and its muscular body, it wouldn’t surprise her. 

But...

Maybe she didn’t need to get away. Maybe she could trap it. Heading toward the glowing button, she mashed her fist against it. The mechanisms overhead ground in a way that set Fin’s teeth on edge as the door began to inch upwards. The beast paused its pursuit, its merciless eyes fixated on locating the source of the noise. 

Standing next to the slowly opening door, Fin shouted toward the deathclaw. “Hey dumbass! Look, I’m escaping! I’m going to get away!” Panic tinged her singsonged words.

Its attention returned to her, and seeing the ever-widening gap opening in the wall, it sprang back through the window, skidding across the gravel before rounding the corner. Fin waited just inside the garage, making sure it wasn’t tricking her. The deathclaw was singular in its pursuit though, and came barreling into the garage just as she stepped back into the front of the building. It roared in frustration finding its prey still outside of its reach. Clawing at the doorway a few times, it charged from the garage back around to the front of the building. 

As the deathclaw rounded the corner once more, Fin sprinted back to the button, mashing it with her fist as it stood outside of the window. It huffed in irritation, its patience already paper thin from its prey’s games before scrambling back toward the garage door. Skidding back into the shop, the furious creature managed to graze its claws across Fin’s calf as she barely made it back through the doorway. Though slight, the swipe sent her sprawling and she skidded across the floor, hitting the wall under the windowsill with a thud. 

Her vision swam a bit, blurring the claws gouging the concrete floor inches from her face. Willing herself to focus, Fin carefully dragged herself along the wall, shimmying down through glass and her own warm, sticky blood. Sitting up, she kept her gaze raised, forcing herself not to look at the blood steadily dripping from her leg.

The beast paced in its enclosure, roaring in fury. Limping toward the shotgun, she picked it up with her good arm, before gathering the boxes of shells. Fin forced herself not to even glance toward Codsworth’s still frame. Heading back toward the doorway, she heard an ominous, metal groan. She limped back into the building as quickly as she could. The deathclaw had wedged its claws under the garage door, and with its sheer, brute strength, had managed to accordion the door a few inches. 

“No,” she panted. “We’re done now.” She tapped the barrel of the shotgun against the doorframe to get its attention. “Come here.” The deathclaw paused, its long tongue darting from its mouth before it abandoned the task. Its nostrils flared as it lumbered toward her, no doubt anticipating the taste of her fresh blood. 

The glass in her right shoulder made her hesitate as she steadied the shotgun against it. There was no way. She would just have to make her other shoulder work. Aiming for the deathclaw’s horned head, she squeezed the trigger. With only one good leg to stand on, Fin was knocked back, whimpering as she landed on her already bruised ass. The beast’s head whipped back as the blast tore across the side of its head. It bellowed in pain, cradling its ruined face in its clawed hands. 

She grabbed two shells from the box and used the shotgun as a crutch, hoisting herself off the ground before reloading it. The deathclaw had resumed ramming against the doorway, furious. One beady, yellow eye never left Fin, glaring at her balefully. Gouts of blood dripped from its empty socket down to the teeth exposed in its ravaged cheek. 

“You’re not allowed to be mad, asshole. We were fine before you came along!” Fin screamed at the creature, tears prickling her eyes. It bellowed right back, spraying her with flecks of blood and saliva. She leveled the shotgun at it, bracing herself this time as she aimed down its throat. The shotgun’s report abruptly cut off the beast’s roars and it fell to the floor finally still. 

Fin used the shotgun to hobble back outside, still not looking at Codsworth as she picked up the first aid kit that had fallen out of the toolbox. She retreated to the back room of the Red Rocket and placed the kit on the desk before collapsing into the swivel chair. Each item was laid out carefully in the order she’d need them: a small bottle of antiseptic, tweezers, and a stimpak. 

She tried to gulp back a sob as she finally looked at the extent of the damage. Denim hung in ribbons over her left leg and two, deep scores ran diagonally across her calf. The wounds steadily oozed blood. Fin felt faint looking at it. 

It wasn’t the pain, or the blood itself that bothered her. Nature tempered women in blood and pain from an early age. Blood became a natural and unavoidable part of life. What bothered Fin was the unnaturalness of that particular blood being outside of her body. She started to cry in earnest looking at the deep gashes. 

Taking a few deep breaths, she chastised herself internally, “You have to do this, don’t be weak.”

“It’s not weak to cry,” a small voice chimed in. 

She grit her teeth then, her cheeks shiny with tears. “Enough," she hissed. Crying or not, it would be done. "I can do this.”

Using her left hand, Fin gripped the back of her shirt and pulled it up over her head before tugging it down her right arm as gently as she could. Her leg was definitely the more serious injury, but she wasn’t really sure how stimpaks worked outside of the game, so she decided to remove the glass first to be safe.

The bottle of antiseptic squirted over the tweezers and her fingertips, as well as all of the spots that dotted the right side of her body. She made sure to leave enough for her leg. Despite her shaking hand, Fin was finally able to carefully extract each piece. The tweezers fell from her trembling hand as she removed the final piece. 

Her head fell back and she took a few steadying breaths before eyeing the stimpak. The last of the antiseptic was poured over the needle and her calf. “Don’t think about it, don’t think about it…” she repeated to herself, gripping the stimpak in her shaking hand. “Don’t think about it,” Fin said one final time before jamming the needle into her calf muscle. 

She whimpered, fresh tears springing to her eyes before breathing in a ragged breath and pressing down on the plunger. Pulling it from her leg, Fin stopped sniffling as she watched in fascination as the skin knit itself back together slowly. _That was actually really cool! I wonder how it works…_

All that was left was shiny, new skin surrounded by rapidly drying blood. It didn’t itch, but she couldn’t help scratching at it, her brain having difficulty accepting the immediate, healing effects. Fin looked at her shoulder, but the stimpak didn’t seem to be enough for those wounds. Fishing some gauze from the first aid kit, she wrapped her shoulder before tugging her now tattered shirt back on. The bruises and aches hadn’t been healed by the stimpak either, but she could walk without limping at least. 

Heading back to the garage, she gave the deathclaw corpse a wide berth as she located a dolly and searched for something to secure Codsworth with. There were some tangled ratchet straps in one of the workbench drawers that Fin set herself to untangling. 

As she worked at her task, she considered the deathclaw. It would start to stink soon and from what she'd heard, the smell of death was hard to get rid of. And Fin had plans for the Red Rocket station. If she lived that long.

Setting down the untangled straps, she carefully placed her hands on its hide. She pushed but it didn’t move an inch. Even pulling it, Fin couldn’t get the enormous creature to budge. “Fuck! What am I supposed to do?” Her gaze went to the workbench and she rifled through its drawers until she came upon a saw. 

The unwieldy hand saw bent and snagged as she tried to force it through the deathclaw’s thick hide. Beads of perspiration gathered on her forehead, her short hair frizzing where it wasn’t stuck flat against it. 

The saw finally gnawed through the beast’s scales and her aching shoulder rejoiced as it easily sunk into the soft flesh. The creature’s still warm blood oozed through the cut, making the saw slippery and even more unruly as Fin tried to grip it tightly. 

Determined, Fin kept at the grisly task. Until the saw chewed through the first of the deathclaw’s tendons and joints that is. 

The sickening noise paired with the miasma of sweat, vomit, gunshot, and coppery blood that hung thickly in the air rolled over her in a wave. Fin doubled over, her empty stomach heaving as she retched a few times. After a few ragged breaths, she assessed her progress. Or lack of it.

_It shouldn’t be this fucking hard._ Forcing herself to do unnatural or repellant things was something Fin was used to. _This shouldn’t be any different_.

She wasn’t in any danger. The beast was dead. She should be able to do this! All Fin had to do was cut it into manageable pieces. But the thought of the saw’s jagged teeth raking through the cartilage again… She gagged at the thought. 

The saw clattered against the workbench as she threw it in frustration. She couldn’t do it. No amount of reassuring or even bullying thoughts could force her to pick up the saw again. She spat the bile that had gathered in the back of her throat. Fin curled her knees to her chest, sitting on her bloody hands to keep either one from drifting absently to her mouth. 

So what if the deathclaw stayed put? Festering for weeks or months, the smell of decay saturating the tiny repair shop. “The wasteland’s creatures might pick the bones clean,” she thought optimistically. And if they didn’t, what did it matter anyway? She was nowhere near ready to do anything with the Red Rocket. “And besides, it’s only a mechanic’s shop. Nothing special about that as far as settlements go,” she mused. 

Her eyes unfocused as she considered the problem. “A mechanic’s shop… They move heavy things all the time.” Her eyes brightened and she stood up. “I bet they have a winch!”

Sure enough, Fin found what she was looking for. Attaching it to the guardrail outside, she made short work of moving the dead creature. She rolled her eyes at how dense she had been. _‘Play to your strengths.’_ Sound advice from an unsound man. She would need to remember that. Dismembering things definitely wasn’t in her wheelhouse.

Her victorious demeanor quickly faded as Fin set herself to her next task. The dolly rolled along behind her, clattering over the uneven ground as she returned to Codsworth. The bot was heavier than she had expected and it took all of her waning strength to roll him onto the dolly. Securing him, the toolbox, and the shotgun, she began the short trek home. “Not home. Not anymore,” she corrected herself sadly.

The journey was quick until she began crossing the bridge. With the dolly and Codsworth’s added weight, the wood groaned even more than it had on the way over. Fin tugged the cart over the uneven planks. One of the wheels broke through the rotting wood, tipping the dolly perilously close to the edge. She held tightly, grimacing with teeth bared under the strain. 

If Codsworth fell into the water, that would be that. There was no way she would be able to retrieve him. That fear ran deeper than the water below. It would not be conquered anytime soon.

Fin couldn’t lose him, not anymore than she already had. Through sheer force of will, she lifted the wheel out of the rut and angrily tugged the dolly forward. Once on the other side, she lied panting on the pavement for a few moments watching the twilight creep in.

Sighing in relief when the faded blue house came into view, she tugged him along, hefting the bot up the last few steps into the house. Codsworth was left attached to the dolly in the living room as she locked the door behind her. Fin returned to the bot, placing a hand on his chrome body. “I’ll see what I can do tomorrow Codsworth. And if I can’t fix you, I’ll find someone that can. I promise.” 

Peeling off the now itchy garments, Fin tossed them into the shower, though she wasn’t sure if they were even worth saving. Reddish brown water swirled around the drain as she scrubbed herself raw, trying to wash away the blood, guilt, and fear. 

The shower knob squeaked as she turned it off. Her tender skin had mostly dried by the time she sat up from the shower. Putting on one of Nora’s nightgowns, Fin crawled into bed, trying not to let the loneliness and regret swallow her whole. Despite her fatigue, she lied awake well into the early morning hours. 

Normally in times of woe, Fin would escape. But this place had been her fantasy. Where was she supposed to go now? 

_Home_ . _I want to go home._

Having no ruby slippers, memories were as close as she could get to Wesley’s golden laughter, her mother’s plucky determination, and the way Taylor said her name when Fin was just too much. Would she ever see them again? 

Remembering only served to feed the bitter melancholy, but memories were all she had. Her worn out body could only take so much though. Exhaustion finally quelled the rueful thoughts that chased themselves in circles.


	4. Have You Tried Turning It Off And On Again?

_The IT Crowd_

**April 03, 2282**

Fin opened her eyes and there were a few, blessed moments before the events of the previous day washed over her. The bright sun filled the room, seeming to mock the melancholy that gripped her tightly. The silence in the house felt oppressive. She missed Codsworth’s happy humming, and the buzz of his saw as he sliced and diced ingredients. 

There were no tears left though and she quietly nestled back into the blankets. Her nauseous guilt made it easy to ignore her stomach’s growling pleas. Closing her eyes, she passed the rest of the day in a miserable doze, savoring the sweet relief of unconsciousness.

It was dark by the time she finally dragged herself out of the bed. She pulled the Pip-Boy from her bag to check the time, not that it mattered. _11:54 PM_. She crept quietly to the end of the hall, just able to make out Codsworth’s inert figure in the gloom, still strapped to the dolly. Quickly averting her eyes, she tiptoed to the fridge. The light illuminated a small sliver of the kitchen and she quickly grabbed a piece of mutfruit. She really didn’t care what she ate. Nothing sounded appealing, she just wanted her stomach to shut up. It was keeping her awake. 

Fin ate the fruit standing up in the kitchen. A dim yellow light blinking slowly in Codsworth’s frame immediately drew her eyes in the darkness. She hadn’t been able to see it from the hallway. Abandoning the half eaten fruit on the countertop, she ran to get the Pip-Boy for some light. Kneeling down next to him, she flipped open his control panel. Fin couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“Nate and Nora seem like responsible people. I bet they still have your manual somewhere,” she thought, feeling hopeful for the first time all day. She patted him lightly before heading to the laundry room where she knew his packaging was. Sure enough, just under the lip of the box on top of the styrofoam was a Mister Handy user manual. 

Skimming the index, she found the chapter titled ‘Troubleshooting’. She sat cross-legged next to Codsworth and began going through the options by Pip-Boy light. While Fin may not have been a pro at mechanical repair, it certainly wasn’t outside of her capabilities. Living out in the country two weeks from everything, if something broke you either fixed it yourself or went without until you could afford someone to come out all that way. 

But Codsworth wasn’t a washing machine, a toilet, or even a cement mixer; he was incredibly advanced technology. Fin went through each option, her brow growing increasingly furrowed as her optimism began to ebb away. Flipping the page to the last option with bated breath, a single line doused her last, reluctant, ember of hope. ‘Please contact your local General Atomics facility if the problem persists and we would be happy to serve you!’ Fin threw the manual in frustration. 

She sat with her head in her hands for a few minutes, until the hard floor against her bruised ass forced her to get up. Retrieving the manual, she smoothed the creased pages before returning it to Codsworth’s box and going back to bed.

*

Three days passed before Fin could roust herself from her sorrows. A different kind of guilt had set in as she took stock of the once immaculate house. Dishes littered the countertops, the bed sheets had become stale with her near constant occupation, and what few possessions she owned had spread out haphazardly across the bedroom. 

Mustering the energy to right the house felt as impossible as summiting Caradhras. So Fin traveled around the mountain instead.

Carefully wrapping the bottle of Santa Teresa Rum intended for her parents in her party dress, she tucked the little bundle into the closet. She covered it with her canvas bag and pulled one of Nate’s military backpacks from the top shelf. It was a little big for her, even when she adjusted the nylon straps, but it would work better than what she had. She tossed it, along with a matching canteen, onto the rumpled bed to pack later. 

There was a jewelry box on the dresser next to the closet, and Fin picked through it until she found a pendant on a long, silver chain. She removed the pendant, placing it back in the jewelry box. She slowly slid her engagement ring from her finger. The moonstone winked at her three times – moonlight, dusty butterfly wings, violets – as it slid onto the chain for safekeeping. The house key was placed next to it. She clasped the chain around her neck, the little totems resting next to her heart.

Her things in order, Fin muttered to herself, “I need to get back to the vault before I do anything else.” Nora would need food if she woke up earlier than she did in game. Fin didn’t want to take any more than she already had from Codsworth by inadvertently killing what little family the bot had left.

Rolling Codsworth from the dolly, she stacked all of the boxes of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes, Blamco Mac & Cheese, as well as every other box of processed food in the house onto the cart. The trip to the vault was without incident, and before long she returned to the eerie house. 

Fin couldn’t leave Codsworth lying on the living room floor; his pincers sprawled out limply around him. With a steady stream of curses, she managed to wrangle the inert bot into his box, carefully tucking his pincers beneath him. A few tears splashed onto the top of the cardboard box before Fin turned and left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. 

*

The dead brush barely crunched under her boots as Fin carefully made her way toward the radio tower the Abernathys lived at in game. It was slow going. She couldn’t help startling at even the most innocent noises, like a rabbit forced to travel out in the open. She’d duck down, eyes darting around fearfully, expecting to feel claws rip through her skin again. When nothing emerged, she’d shoulder her pack, wipe her sweaty hands on her pants, and grip the shotgun firmly before continuing on. It was exhausting. 

She encountered little more than a startled radstag though, its fear reflected in her own aspect before it snorted and quickly leapt away. The radio tower finally came into view and Fin stopped. She listened and could just make out a few chattering voices and the persistent moo from a penned brahmin, lowing to be let out.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, Clarabell.” A low, rich voice resonated from a man Fin presumed was Blake Abernathy. He made his way toward the impatient animal, stroking her hide a moment before leading her to a larger fenced area. Fin could just make out a woman and two girls pulling weeds from among what she guessed were tato plants. She waited until Blake had rejoined his family, not wanting to startle anyone. 

Her footsteps were no longer light, wanting to alert the family to her presence while she was still a ways off. Four sets of eyes immediately found her and she rested the shotgun barrel against her shoulder before waving a hand out in greeting. The girls stood up, and Blake held out a hand to stay them. Worry clouded Connie’s face, and with a few hushed words, Blake headed out to meet the stranger. His hand rested on the .44 pistol at his hip. 

He stopped about 10 feet from her. “There something I can help you with, stranger?” His voice was steady and his words friendly, but that didn’t extend to his face, which remained etched with distrust. 

“I, uh, I’m new to the area and looking to trade. Or work if you have any odd jobs,” Fin replied hopefully. 

She saw Connie send the girls inside, their complaints clearly audible as they stomped into the makeshift house. The woman began to approach Fin and Blake. 

“We’ve got all of the help we need and don’t have much in the way of trade. You’d best be moving on, friend.” 

Fin’s face fell. “Oh. Ok.” She hadn’t expected that. Fidgeting a bit, she said, “Well, if you change your mind, I’m living just north of here across the bridge.” She stuck out her hand then. “I’m Fin by the way.” Blake eyed her outstretched hand but made no move to take it. After a few awkward moments, she withdrew it and cleared her throat. “Ok, well take care.” 

Fin turned to leave, and missed the hand Connie lightly placed on her husband’s forearm. All she heard was a long suffering sigh followed by a gruff “Wait.” She turned back, her eyes wide and hopeful. Blake pinched the bridge of his nose before replying, “I forgot, we got stuff left over from our last trade trip. Guess it wouldn’t hurt to let you pick through it.”

Fin smiled gratefully but didn’t have a chance to reply before a terrified bellowing rose up from the pasture Blake had taken Clarabell to. Fin could see three mutated dogs snapping at the poor beast’s legs, backing her into a corner of the small field. 

They resembled the dogs from Resident Evil. Though while they were not as gruesome looking – tufts of matted fur dotted ragged pink skin clinging to skeletal frames -- they were still terrifying simply for the fact that these slavering beasts were real.

Blake turned sharply toward the noise, only sparing a suspicious glance toward Fin before taking off in that direction. “Connie, watch her!” Connie pulled a pipe pistol from her hip, but kept it lowered. 

“Mom?” The older of the two girls stepped from the house, the littler one’s fearful face visible through a gap in the wooden slats.

“Get back in the house, Mary!” 

The older girl didn’t listen, and took a few tentative steps around the house to see what was going on. “Mary!” Connie shouted at her, leaving Fin. 

Blake had reached the pasture and as soon as he opened the gate, the terrified brahmin barreled through the opening, knocking him hard against the post and the gun from his hands. He fell to a knee, clearly winded from the blow and the mongrels began to close in on him.

Both Mary and Connie cried out, seeing him fall. 

“Blake!”

“Dad!”

Mary made to run toward her father, but Connie held back the frantic girl. Fin dropped her pack, and took off toward the pasture. She abandoned the shotgun in the dirt next to the fence, its spread making it useless as the beasts closed in on Blake. Instead she pulled her .22 pistol from its holster. 

Her first shot hit the dirt at the feet of one of the snarling creatures, and three canine heads swiveled toward her almost in unison with teeth bared and dripping. She tried to steady her shaking hands and focused her breathing. Her next shot connected, hitting the dog nearest Blake in the snout causing it to yelp in pain. It snuffled and whined as it rubbed its ruined, bleeding nose against skinny forelegs, trying futilely to dislodge the bullet embedded in its skull. 

The beasts’ momentary distraction was all the opening Blake needed. He lunged for the revolver, his left arm braced out to block the mongrel with the ruined nose. Despite its injury, it sunk its teeth into his forearm and he cried out. 

He was about to whip the pistol across the beast’s face, when it let go on its own, huffing for air through its mouth. It wasn’t allowed to catch its breath as a bullet tore through its skull, blood and brain matter spattering the yellow, scruffy grass. With movements almost too quick for Fin to track, Blake put down the remaining mongrels. 

The silence was abrupt, the only sounds their heavy breathing and the two sets of footsteps crunching quickly across the dry, cracked earth toward them. Fin didn’t say anything as she continued to breathe in deeply. She silently stuck her hand out toward Blake and, after studying her for a moment, he took it. He nearly pulled the small woman down as she tried to help him to his feet. 

Mary almost knocked him back to the ground as she threw her arms around him. He winced, putting an arm around Mary and the other at his bruised ribs before looking to Connie now at his back. She lightly set a hand on his shoulder, looking relieved.

He looked toward Fin who smiled crookedly up at him. “So, Fin huh? We need to set you up with a better gun.”


	5. In The Darkest Days When Everything Stopped

_“You turned to artists.” A tweet from @Jishnu_bando_

**April-October, 2282**

“And this is s’posed to help how exactly?”

Fin’s face beamed. “I’m glad you asked. It’s called companion planting.” She went into the short version of what each plant does to help the others. “The big sister, corn, gives a strong support system for the others to grow up, the middle sister, beans, pulls nutrients from the air so as not to strip the soil – which, oof this soil needs all the help it can get.”

Picking up a handful of soil, Fin let the earth slip through her fingers, leaving behind a squirming handful of earthworms. Fin had expected worms to have gone the way of the bees, but they must have found some way to adapt to their new world. The soil was positively teeming with the little creatures!

“Maybe that’s part of the problem though,” Fin mused to herself. There was no such things as too many worms, not in her world at least. But there was so much to learn about her new reality.

“We got Clarabell for that…” Connie offered, somewhat sullenly, bringing Fin back to the conversation.

Fin’s excited smile faltered a bit, realizing she might have been coming off a bit critical, so she changed tacks. “She _is_ a tremendous resource. That really does help. This will help too, maybe not as much; it’s not a perfect system. But every little bit right?”

Connie nodded, still looking a bit skeptical. Lucy chimed in then, her little sparrow’s face keen, “What about the little sister?” she asked, pointing to the squash plants.

Fin beamed at her rapt pupil. “Oh the little sister has an important job too. See those big leaves? They’re a little sad now, but when they heal, they’ll help shade the ground, so when you get your mulch and compost under there,” Fin gestured toward Clarabell who just blinked slowly at her, “it’ll help keep it damp so you don’t have to water as much. Which means less work for us,” Fin said with a smile.

“Do we need to water the Alfalfa today?” Lucy asked, glancing over at the patchy clumps Fin had transplanted. 

“We should water it every day for now and see how it does. It’d be nice to get it really healthy and established before Fall. It’s nutrient dense so I think Clarabell will appreciate that mixed in with her razorgrain over winter,” Fin said, looking at Connie. “And that way you guys have more grain for yourselves,” she said, poking Lucy gently in the belly. The girl’s freckled face broke into a smile as she squirmed away.

After a moment’s consideration, Fin added, looking to Connie, “You can’t give her too much though. Just as a supplement. Too much makes animals sick.” Fin remembered the rabbits she had growing up. It had taken two of the sweet, little creatures lying bloated in their run for her to finally figure out what she was doing wrong. While Fin had never had cows before, she figured only feeding them alfalfa would probably be harmful in a similar way. “And we’ll want to let some of it seed so that next year there’s even more,” she added. Perennials were where it was at! But the Abernathys only seemed to grow annuals.

Connie nodded and Fin hoped she was listening, though she was used to people tuning her out when it came to plants. Not everyone found them as fascinating as she always had. But if they wouldn’t listen, she’d show them. She had transplanted every edible, wild plant she had recognized when it became clear she’d be staying with the Abernathys for the foreseeable future. Beans, corn, alfalfa, squash, amaranth, even some thistle, though she intended to keep that particular plant well under control. They had remarked on how messy her little plot was, especially compared to their tidy rows. “Mine has a cover crop. I won’t have to water very much once the plants stop being stressed from moving,” she had replied with a smile.

“Connie, would you help me with this?” Blake hauled some wooden slats up to the house. He and Connie had been fixing up the shack while Fin watched the girls as the trio gardened. Connie got to her feet with a groan. 

“Where’s Mary?” Fin asked before she left them. 

Connie shook her head with a frown, “Still asleep. Don’t know how she can sleep so late.”

Fin pulled up some bindweed, following the long tendril further down the bed. She tossed it onto the weed pile before Lucy scooped it up, tossing it over the fence for Clarabell. “Are you guys sure she should eat that?” Bindweed was toxic to rabbits, but she really didn’t know much about cows, let alone mutated ones.

Lucy laughed. “Her name’s Clara,” she pointed to the left head, “and her name’s Bell,” pointing to the right head. “They’re not just one you know. You really don’t have brahmin where you’re from?”

“They’re the first brahmin I’ve met,” Fin said, sheepish about the mistake.

“That’s so weird,” Lucy said with a grin. “Yeah, they like it. See?”

The two heads fought over the little pile of weeds. Fin shrugged. Well, if they haven’t come to any harm from it so far… Hell, alcohol was toxic to humans and that certainly didn’t stop her.

The hammers knocking on the back of the house finally rousted Mary from bed. Maisie lay pooled in her arms. She shot her parents a dirty look -- that they missed -- before settling in at the bed Fin and Lucy were working on. Maisie rubbed up against Mary’s ankles before trotting off on her own adventures. The three worked quietly pulling weeds and trimming unviable parts. 

“Will you tell the story now that Mary’s up?” Lucy asked after a few minutes of silence. 

“Of course, pequeñita. Where did we leave off?”

“They were about to go into the Forbidden Forest,” Mary answered, her voice raspy with sleep. 

“Oh that’s right. I can’t believe I left you guys on such a cliff hanger,” Fin teased before continuing the tale.

In the beginning, it had taken them all some time to warm up to each other. What had helped was Fin offering to read to the girls in the evenings, though Connie and Blake listened intently as well. Edgar Allen Poe had given her nightmares as a girl -- the thumping of that telltale heart -- so she elected to read them Watership Down, which was only slightly less traumatizing. She read it to them a couple of times before alighting on the idea of telling them a story from memory. And what story did she know best?

She had introduced the girls to the magic of Harry Potter. The series had been one that Fin reread obsessively, even as an adult. Reading it as a child and then through an adult lens illuminated all the ways that adults so often fail children. It wasn’t hard to give her little Gryffindor and Ravenclaw an almost verbatim retelling of the fantastical tale.

*

Little puffs of dust kicked up as Lucy went tearing around to the back of the property, shouting, “Carla’s coming!” 

Connie, Blake, and Lucy soon joined Fin and Mary in watching the loaded down brahmin make its slow, plodding progress behind an almost equally slow woman. Neither seemed particularly fussed with reaching their destination. 

The girls stood on tiptoe, eagerly peering at the wares without touching. Connie and Blake exchanged brief pleasantries with Carla before she turned her attention to Fin. “Looks like you picked up a stray.”

“This here’s Fin. She’s been helping us on the farm,” Blake explained.

Carla grunted in acknowledgement before asking, “You trading?”

After the fray with the mongrels, Blake had given Fin a somewhat janky pipe rifle, but beggars can’t be choosers. With some cleaning and general TLC, it had scrubbed up all right. All she needed now was a scope. But Carla was making that difficult.

“15 caps,” Carla replied curtly.

“Are you kidding?” Fin snorted, arching her brow in disbelief. “There’s no way a whole gun is worth less than a box of its ammo,” she said sourly. 

Hancock’s words from in game came back to her then, _‘Reliable guns are always at a premium in the Commonwealth.’_ _15 caps was crap!_ The scope she had her eye on was 100. She had hoped the shotgun and its shells would be enough for the scope and some .380 ammo. If she sold the shotgun, she’d be little over halfway there. 

Fin grit her teeth in irritation, managing a kind of half smile. “15 caps might be acceptable for any old shotgun, but I killed a deathclaw with this one. It’s a great gun.”

“Did you really kill a deathclaw?” Lucy chimed in tugging on Fin’s arm. Her face was aglow with curiosity.

“Yeah, over at the Red Rocket,” Fin said, her chin jerking toward the shop, the rocket just barely visible from where they stood.

Carla tutted, looking like she seriously doubted the claim.

“So close?” Connie remarked, her brow creased with worry. “When?”

Fin thought back, remembering the dismal days that followed her hollow victory. “A few days before I first met you guys. Are deathclaws solitary? Or do they move in pairs or packs?”

“They live in big nests, whole broods of ’em. They don’t usually go too far from their nests. We’ve never seen one out here before,” Blake said.

“And you still haven’t,” Carla added acidly. “I can do 15 caps. Take it or leave it.”

It irked her, but Fin begrudgingly accepted the offer. Adding a couple bottles of buffout she’d found in Sanctuary to the pot finally yielded the scope, and one box of .380 ammo to boot. Connie gave her a disapproving look seeing the chem. “I don’t use them,” Fin supplied shortly. Happy with her purchase, Fin leisurely perused the rest of Carla’s wares as Connie and Blake did their trading. 

“We need matches, and salt?” Blake said, looking toward Connie who nodded. “Runnin’ low on kerosene too. Also, you got any razors? I misplaced my last one and I’m getting’ a bit scruffy,” Blake said, rubbing his chin.

Connie laughed. “A bit?” she teased eyeing his “scruff”. It did look more like a beard to Fin too.

“Yeah I got everything you need somewhere. Keep your shirt on.”

While the woman rummaged around in the various trunks, baskets, and sacks, a loud, tacky fanny pack caught Fin’s eye. Its bright colors and zany pattern stood out among the earth tones so common in the wasteland. It quickly became the only thing Fin had ever wanted. And she had an idea on how she could get the caps for it. “Do people buy deathclaw… claws?” she asked.

Carla spared the briefest glance in Fin’s direction before answering, “They’re easy to sell. City folk love things like that.”

“How much do they go for?”

Carla eyed her shrewdly for a moment before saying, “ _If_ you had one, I’d buy it for 10 caps.”

She may not have answered her question, but that told Fin everything she needed to know. And that was potentially great news! “I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere. Please,” she added. Fin grabbed her rifle and headed back toward the Red Rocket. Hopefully the corpse was where she’d left it. Those claws were going to be her golden ticket!

*

Some of the claws seemed to have wandered off, but Fin managed to collect eight of them. Carla had continued on her way and Fin had to chase her down. Four of them were traded for the fanny pack, along with a headlamp, a spool of twine, and some non-perishables for Nora’s stockpile. The rest Fin would use the twine to make necklaces out of to trade in Diamond City. And then she’d be in clover! 

With their business concluded, Fin returned to the deathclaw skeleton. There was one more thing it would surrender to her. 

Fin had nearly given up when she spied grinning jaws peaking through the dead brush. _There you are!_ The skull had already been picked clean, probably tumbling away as it was fed on. _Damn, the wasteland moves fast!_

She tottered over to Codsworth’s house with her treasure. Her arms were shaking with the effort of carrying the skull and it plunked down somewhat heavily on Nora’s dresser.

The horned skull smiled up her, it’s jagged teeth longer than her fingers. _The most terrifying creature in the wasteland._ Fin bared her teeth at it, mirroring its feral grin. _I’m the one still standing_. She dropped down to her knees to lean against the dresser, resting her cheek on her forearm as she carefully traced a fingertip along the peaks and dips of the deathclaw’s bite.

The Abernathys hadn’t pried about her past, not really. The girls had expressed some interest in the beginning, but Blake had stymied their curiosity, saying it wasn’t their business. Fin was grateful for that. The fewer people that knew the truth, the better. 

She was certain that the dangerous things she knew were as good as a death sentence in the wrong hands. While she cared for the Abernathys, she didn’t trust them with something so rare and crucial. Fin would lie if it became necessary. 

Besides, it wouldn’t be forever. It just felt that way. Apparently, Blake had already made his first trip to Diamond City with his extra seed starts days before Fin had shown up at the farm. A bad bit of luck that meant she’d have to wait it out for 6 months, if she didn’t want to make the journey alone.

And she most certainly did not.

Fin knew she should be grateful for her circumstances. Living and helping out on the farm was like WWOOFing, and hadn’t she always wanted to try that? Despite her forced optimism, less than two weeks in and Fin was already restless. This wasn't unsurprising though, given the lack of cerebral stimulation the farm afforded. Her entire life Fin had been a collector, always searching. Her collection consisted of three types of things: interesting items, skills, and plants. 

The former ranged from the macabre to the divine. A thrift store oriental urn still dusty with ash was perfectly at home with the beautiful stained glass window of a naked woman on a swing, red hair streaming behind her. Fin named her Demeter; the goddess happy to see her garden grow.

Fin also loved learning and collected skills greedily, sitting atop them like a dragon on its hoard. When she was young, her parents paid for lessons when they could afford them. In between, Fin read obsessively and adored games. And when she was older… well, the Internet was awesome! She could learn any thing, any time she wanted. She stuck with things until she felt she could progress no further. Things got boring then. 

She was good at quite a lot, but not really exceptional at anything in particular. That didn’t matter though. What mattered was _knowing._

“Yeah, it _really_ doesn’t matter if you win…” a sarcastic, inner voice chimed in. Fin chose to ignore this.

As far as the latter of the collection went, the air in Fin’s room was always clear and fresh, despite the musty antiques. Pothos wound along bookshelves and through candelabras, wax occasionally melting through the poor babies’ leaves. Spider plants sent out tendrils, always eager to increase their numbers. And four perfect, little ecosystems housed in terrariums sat on their own shelf. Fin could coax brilliance from even the saddest seedlings. Outside, she grew things for her family and their animals, and also for her own enjoyment. _The tulips…_

This particular knowledge had already proven invaluable in the wasteland. But even with her advantages, there were things she needed to put the work into. Fin had never been particularly disciplined. Having a natural aptitude for the things she set herself to and abandoning them as soon as they were no longer stimulating… well, she had never needed to be. 

But, she would channel her inner Asta this summer, attacking even the most mundane task with commitment and verve. “For realse this time,” she thought dubiously. Her summer would be spent getting stronger and honing the skills she’d need to survive. And when it came to a close, she’d tag along with Blake to Diamond City. From there, her next moves would be easier to figure out.

Fin was feeling more optimistic already. She had a plan! A meager one, but as Farkas wisely said, ‘Eyes on the prey, not the horizon.’ 

She glanced back at the skull with her hand on the doorknob. A crow chortled in her head, pleased with the first item decorating its nest.

*

The following day, Fin made her way up to Vault 111 to add to Nora’s food stores. Connie couldn’t stand hearing the same songs over and over, and time didn’t really matter in the wasteland, so the Pip-Boy had lain forgotten at the bottom of her bag. Retracting the cord back into the device while she waited for the elevator to take her down to the vault, she noticed the date. 04/19/2282 _No shit… Today’s my birthday!_

The Abernathys didn’t seem to celebrate much; wasteland living was incredibly dour. But that didn’t mean Fin couldn’t have a fine time by herself. Unloading cans of Pork ‘n’ Beans and boxes of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes, Fin snagged a box of the little cakes for herself. 

The tin of joints she’d had in her purse was safely tucked away in her pack back at the Abernathys’. All that was missing for her little shindig was the booze. Unfortunately, Fin’s pickiness about food extended to libations. She hadn’t come across any bottles of red wine, and she had her doubts about ever finding any hard ciders. Bees were definitely extinct; she and the girls pollinated the plants with little paintbrushes. So mead certainly didn’t exist anymore. 

All that left was beer and hard liquor. She’d found a bottle of whisky in one of the Sanctuary neighbor’s houses, but even just the smell of the spirit made her stomach roil. The only tolerable hard liquor was rum… which, now that she thought about it, she had! The tucked away bottle of Santa Teresa rum had been meant for her parents’ 30th anniversary. And now, well… why not her own? Her parents wouldn’t begrudge her.

*

After setting four of the little snack cakes on a plate for the Abernathys – after all, they couldn’t get any staler really -- Fin grabbed a ragged blanket from her mattress in the kitchen and made her way up to the rooftop. The stars in post-apocalyptica were something else. 

Unscrewing the lid of the mason jar she’d poured a double of rum into, Fin raised it toward the glittering, celestial bodies. “Happy birthday to me,” she murmured, sipping from the jar. She grimaced at the liquor’s sharp bite. 

Pulling the tin of joints from her pocket, Fin traced the Ouija board embossed on the front. “Be careful. Might accidentally summon a demon,” she thought with a snort. “Probably none left to summon though,” she said, reconsidering. “They’re all already here.” 

Lighting the joint, her eyes watered with the effort of stifling her coughs. The unfurling smoke momentarily obscured the pinpricks of light. What faint inkling of time Fin had faded away as she chased thoughts through the smoke and across the starry scape.

Nibbling one of the stale, crumbly cakes, Fin supposed she was 30 today. She couldn’t be sure though, given her travels through space and time.

_Three decades._

And here she was, starting all over. While she may not have much in the way of caps and effects, Fin wasn’t starting out with nothing. Her knowledge of this world was a weapon she intended to wield against the wasteland. People like the Abernathys deserved more than the meager existence they’d carved out. Her scythe would level the playing field; she’d cultivate humanity in whatever swathes she cut. 

Little by little, poco a poco. ‘ _Brick by brick…_ ’ 

Thinking of Dirty Hands’ mantra, Fin sighed. God, she missed her books. Reading her favorite tale over and over with no variation was a bit like having Thanksgiving dinner for every meal. She’d happily devour _anything_ else at this point. Maybe even ‘Ulysses’ with minimal complaints.

Fin snorted, tipping the last sip of rum into her mouth. Times weren’t quite so tough. The shabby paperback tied together with twine begged to differ, its loose pages threatening escape. Its pleas went unheard though, Fin deciding to follow the intrepid bunnies on their adventures once again. 

Setting the empty glass aside, Fin looked down at the joint in her hand. _Half’s enough._ A horrifying thought occurred to her then. W _hat if they don’t have weed here_ ? Pinching the cherry onto the rooftop, she stubbed it out with the toe of her boot. _Half might’ve been too much then._ She frowned slightly as she pocketed the ashy half joint. There was nothing for it though, so Fin began slowly tottering down the steps.

Back on the ground on her lumpy mattress, Fin watched with hazy eyes as the lantern light blinked, peered, and streaked through the void between the shack’s wooden slats. She hated seeing animal eyeshine in the darkness. It had always unnerved her, seeing the sheep’s eyes out in the pasture if her dad had forgotten to put them in. “We’re in danger!” they seemed to cry. 

She didn’t know that it would be worse not seeing them out there anymore, after one of the neighbor’s huskies got out. The brute had lied panting and worn in the long grass, the taste of freedom and sheep’s blood on its lolling tongue. 

Instead of settling in with Watership Down – again -- Fin blew out the lantern, squeezing her eyes shut. She futilely tried to banish the thought of those jaws smiling at all the death they had meted out.

*

The pleasant mists of April fled as summer crashed in. Its intense heat bore down on them all. Which meant early mornings. The squabbling cats cramming in under the house to beat the heat after a night spent prowling were reliable enough as far as alarm clocks went. They were a poor substitute, however, when you were used to being roused from your slumber by the Dovahkiin theme.

Fin woke to the caterwauls feeling frazzled. Changing into a grey button-up and jeans torn from use, Fin headed to the little kitchen. She brushed her teeth, a habit that always seemed to amuse the Abernathys -- save Lucy who had gradually joined her morning routine. The pair growled and bared their foamy teeth at each other before dissolving into quiet giggles. 

Yawning, Fin grabbed a melon. Cutting it in half, they each ate from the rind with spoons, like cereal as they headed out to the garden beds. It wasn’t long before Mary joined them, eyes fuzzy with sleep. They settled in silently, pulling weeds. When sufficiently awake, Lucy asked Fin to resume the tale like she always did. 

*

“You don’t think the chamber sounds so cool?”

“Uh uh,” Lucy said, shaking her head frantically.

Fin had laid the story on a bit thick… The Chamber of Secrets was her favorite! And Lucy was looking a little spooked. Fin tried to backpedal. “But there wouldn’t be anything alive in there anymore, nothing to be scared of. You could explore. Poke into every corner…” 

The thought had always excited Fin, especially as a child. As an adult, she could understand why Harry never went back. But as a child, she’d always thought that if _she_ could speak Parseltongue, she’d go back and explore to her heart’s content. Mentally catalogue every carving, every fine detail. A place to be quiet, alone, and safe.

“You don’t know that there’s nothing _else_ in there. What if something was sleeping?” Mary suggested, taking her little sister’s side.

Lucy nodded fervently, her chin wrinkled with worry. 

“I think Salazar only had the one monster. What would be worse than a basilisk?”

The sun was nearly overhead when Connie interrupted the discussion. “How’s it going out here?” A murmured chorus of ‘fine’s answered her. She glanced at Fin. “You too?” she asked with an eye roll, gesturing at Fin and Mary’s sleeves. 

Such a little thing, but it irked Fin a bit that she was fussed over like she was one of their girls. Connie and Blake were _not_ that much older than her. She certainly looked younger though, her skin soft and unmarred by decades of wasteland living. And she was small, and new to the Commonwealth. While she could understand her peers’ reasoning, she still didn’t like it. 

Despite her sullen thoughts, Fin replied evenly, shrugging a shoulder, “There’s no sunscreen. You’ve got to protect your skin somehow.” Even with her precautions, the skin tone she’d inherited from her mother had darkened while the freckles she’d gotten from her father multiplied.

“Yeah, mooom,” Mary intoned.

Narrowing her eyes at Mary’s tone, Connie asked, “You done today’s wash yet?”

Mary sighed, “No mom, I haven’t got around to it yet. I’m too busy doing the fifty other things you keep telling me to do.”

“You watch your mouth or you’re staying home the next time your father goes to Diamond City.”

Mary clenched her jaw, trying to control her temper. “Well, I’m trying to get everything done, but the wash takes forever.”

“Enough griping. Just get on with your work.” Connie started to walk away, turning just in time to avoid tripping over one of the cats slinking toward the house. “Look, even the shyer cats are comin’ in, it’s so hot.”

Sure enough, cats Fin had only ever seen at a distance made their way to the house. Their sullen looks dared the farmers to do something. Nobody minded them though, and they crammed underneath with the others. Only Maisie enjoyed the comfortable shade inside the house, satisfaction rewarding her curiosity.

With Connie now out of earshot, Fin said, “Just pile the laundry bags up by the door. I’ll go do it over in Sanctuary.” What would take the girl half a day manually would take an hour or so with the washer and dryer over at Codsworth’s house.

Mary gave her a grateful smile as she got to her feet. “Thanks!”

“Nadie sabe, y nadie supo,” Fin grinned back.

“Was that Parseltongue?” Lucy asked fearfully as Mary dashed into the house.

It took all of Fin’s strength not to burst out laughing. “No,” she assured her. “Snakes don’t know how to speak Spanish.” She bumped her shoulder against Lucy’s, pulling a smile from the small girl.

When Mary returned, Fin clapped her dirty hands together. “Alright, so Harry’s safe, he _doesn’t_ go back to the chamber ever,” Fin said, answering Lucy’s silent question, “and we’re about to hear from Lucius Malfoy.”

“Oh this guy!” Mary said, rolling her eyes.

“Is this part scary?” Lucy asked.

“It’s not, pequeñita. Don’t worry.”

*

The cats weren’t scrabbling and yowling under the house yet, so why was Fin awake? Her brown eyes sleepily looked out through one of the slats, just able to make out four tall figures near Clarabell’s pen. She easily recognized Blake despite the thin light, but the other three men were strangers to her. Their voices became more heated and Fin strained to hear what was being said.

“What’s going on?”

Mary’s hushed voice at her ear made her jump. “Jesus Christ,” Fin hissed quietly. She took a couple breaths before replying, “I’m not sure. Who are those guys?”

“I’ve never seen them before.” Mary turned to look toward the front door before looking back at the agitated figures. 

“Where’re your mom and Lucy?” Fin whispered.

“Still asleep.”

For the first time, she noticed the bags under her eyes, looking out of place on the teen’s young face. Mary wasn’t usually up this early. _Had she slept?_ There wasn’t time to ask, so Fin just nodded. The situation didn’t look good. She glanced toward her scoped rifle laying on the little side table. 

Mary caught the movement, her brow creasing. “You think he’s in trouble too.” 

Fin barely caught the resolute look on Mary’s face before the little lionheart ran out into the growing light. “Fuck,” Fin hissed through gritted teeth. She grabbed her rifle, running up the stairs to the rooftop. 

Fin slithered onto her stomach, steadying the rifle against the edge of the building. Luckily, the strangers had chosen to stand in the lee of the house. The scope wouldn’t wink in the dawning light. 

Mary had already stomped over to the group. Fin could hear her nettled voice rising above the others, her face blazing in her suppressed rage. Blake held her back, trying to defuse the situation. _Shit, was this the moment?_ It was too early, but then again, not everything was the same… Fin hurriedly found the three men with the scope. 

The one that seemed to be speaking for the rest, shouted, “Fuck off, you dumb cunt! This don’t concern you.”

Mary shot back, “This is _our_ farm and _our_ crops! You’re cowards and thieves!”

Fin saw the man’s hand drift toward the pistol at his hip. Blake missed the movement, too busy trying to placate everyone. Taking a deep breath, her finger hugged the trigger. Before the man could draw his pistol, she let her shot rip through the quiet hillside.

The tiny group winced collectively as the bullet winged the side of the ringleader’s neck. He scrabbled uselessly at the spurting wound while the parched earth greedily lapped up the blood **.** Blake recovered first, dropping the remaining raiders like an Old West gunslinger.

The eerie silence that followed was shattered by Blake’s angry voice commanding Mary into the house. She didn’t argue, looking shaken as she slunk back inside.

Fin crept down the stairs on trembling legs. Connie stood, white faced with Lucy clutched against her. Blake came striding into the room. “Damn raiders. There’s nothin’ they won’t try to take from you, including your life,” he spat. 

Looking up as Fin stumbled down the last few steps, he extended his hand out toward her. Her anxious, brown eyes searched his face, but saw no reproach there. When she took it, he pulled her into an embrace, knocking the wind out of her as he clapped her on the back gruffly. 

He let go of her shortly, his grateful expression shifting as he turned his attention to Mary. “What were you thinking?” he said, his voice louder than it needed to be.

"Dad, I..." Mary began, her voice cracking.

"You don't argue with raiders," he said, each word clipped for emphasis. "The fact that you don't understand that..." He sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Blake didn't outright say it, but the implication was there; no Diamond City. Though Fin was starting to believe that wasn't ever really a possibility.

“That’s not fair! I was just trying to help!” Mary exclaimed, angry tears springing to her eyes.

The shouting chased Fin from the house. Leaving the row without a word, she decided to see what kind of spoils the grim morning had afforded them. All told, the raiders relinquished a few pipe weapons with ammo, a small assortment of chems, -- she pocketed these figuring Connie and Blake might be inclined to destroy them – some personal effects, and about 75 caps between the three of them. Their clothes would probably be taken as well; they couldn’t afford to let anything go to waste. They’d be washed and traded in Diamond City soon.

Fin looked down at the once living man at her feet. She studied the arch of his unkempt brows, the curves in his previously broken nose, the slack in his chapped lips. Death suited him; his face no longer bore that hunger, his body unable to threaten violence now. 

Fin knew this was the wrong thing to be fixated on. She should be concerned with what this meant. 

She had taken a life. A human life.

It was easy to sympathize with almost anyone when you had all of the pieces to the puzzle. But all she knew of this man was that he seemed to like leather, had a gun he didn’t take care of, carried 18 caps, a broken, embossed pocket watch -- Fin’s inner crow crooned, coaxing it into her pocket -- and a jet inhaler on his person. Most importantly though, she knew he threatened her friends absolutely with death. 

If the Abernathys cooperated and gave them their crops, the raiders would certainly come back, the family facing a slow, drawn out death as their livelihood was gradually seized. And if they didn’t? Fin remembered Mary’s bleak grave in game with a shudder.

No, Fin would not mourn him. 

But she would remember him. The broken pocket watch made its new home next to the deathclaw skull in her growing curio collection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Spanish from this chapter:  
> Pequenita - Little one  
> Nadie sabe, y nadie supo - no one knows and no one will know


	6. Ou Et Quand

_Le Fabuleau Destin d’Amelie Poulain_

**October 2282**

The Pip-Boy told Fin that summer was fading, but the dry, dusty heat bearing down on them all disagreed. The wasteland gave no indication that the seasons were shifting. There were no leaves to watch change, trees set aflame with final, brilliant displays, and while the mornings were cooler, that crisp bite was absent from the air. Pleasant weather in Idaho was rare, and sublime. Fin missed it.

Despite the unvarying heat, crates of tatos and sacks of melons sat ready in the already cramped, living room. Clarabell’s lows became slightly less miserable; plenty of water and extra helpings in preparation for the journey made the heat less disagreeable. 

Returning to Sanctuary, Fin sighed as she stepped through the door. Dirty dishes, empty food cartons, and half finished projects had just been added to the pile from those melancholy, April days. Fin ran a hand down her face looking at the mess she’d put off cleaning. Codsworth’s beautiful home had become her hovel. 

“ _Eso no va pegar_ ,” a chorus of Esperanzas – each from a different memory -- chided inside her mind. 

It took Fin the better part of the day to return the house to its once pristine state. Satisfied that even Codsworth couldn’t find fault with her work, Fin grabbed her empty pack and headed back out into the neighborhood.

Aside from her own looting, the neat, little piles in each of the neighbors’ houses from her first day were still there, undisturbed. Sanctuary Hills really didn’t get many visitors. Fin wasn’t taking any chances though, in case it suddenly experienced a spike in tourism. 

Looking over her collection in Nora’s room, she decided it was a respectable start; too respectable to risk losing. The deathclaw skull overlooked a small stack of books, broken antiques, and a collection of elegant perfume bottles -- their scents a distant memory. There were mismatched teacups filled with an assortment of buttons, rings, beads, and smooth rocks. It wasn’t much, but it mattered to her. All of her knick-knacks would be tucked away for safekeeping.

“Do you think we can get it in one trip?” she asked, looking down toward Codsworth. He of course made no reply as she stacked a box on top of his box. The deathclaw fought even in death, its skull tottering on top of the stack. So instead, she replaced it with her embroidered travel bag, plunking the skull inside and piling floral dresses and silky scarves around it. The one fur coat she’d found draped over the bag to hold it all in place. _Someday clothes_.

All that left out of place in the room was a jewelry case sitting on the bed. The outside was cream-colored vinyl with faded gold details, the inside lined with soft, pink velvet. As if that wasn’t enough, it required a very small, slightly tarnished skeleton key. Fin’s inner crow had crooned at the discovery. It was just too cute to leave behind. Besides, she could make use of it.

After all, she needed a field kit.

Its contents formed strata. The upper tray was filled with small bottles and empty condiment jars for field samples. The lower compartment consisted of leather gloves, garden shears, and twine covering the smattering of pencils, erasers, and a sharpener strewn over empty envelopes and Ziploc bags at the bottom. Underneath all of that was a brown, leather bound journal, the Celtic Tree of Life embossed on its cover. She’d had her pick of empty journals in the neighboring houses. _It seems that’s universal._

The empty pages snapped as she riffled through them. Only the first 10 pages fluttered against each other, slightly wavy from use. Though Connie and Blake had helped to identify a lot of the local flora for her, a few little sketches in the journal waited to be classified.

Stuffing the case into her pack, Fin began the arduous trek to the vault with the overfilled dolly. The clothes and clinking box easily fit in a locker in the dormitory. The deathclaw skull had to be wedged in, the fur coat pooling on top of its horns. She shut the door firmly. “My entire life fits in a locker,” she sighed. “For now. C’mon Codsworth.”

“Let’s get you tucked in, all snug and safe,” Fin said as she tipped the dolly upright next to Nora’s pod. The excitement at her departure began to drain away as the somber tableau gripped her. Nora’s pained and frozen face, Nate soup pooling at the foot of his sloughing skeleton, their infant son stolen away forever. And now, Codsworth dinged up and broken at their feet. _What a fucked up family portrait_. 

Fin added a few non-perishables to the already heaping pile and hurried to leave the gruesome scene behind.

With her pack stuffed fit to burst, Fin made her way back to the Abernathy farm. She stepped lightly through the brush, listening for any beasts, her small rifle held ready. Nothing was out in the heat though.

Through the still air, she was able to hear raised voices coming from the Abernathys’ home while still a ways off. It didn’t take long to recognize Mary’s indignant voice, making one last attempt to convince her mom to let her go to Diamond City. Fin considered turning back around, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire. But, the pack was heavy.

“You always say when I’m older. I’m older now! I’m not a kid, I’m 17 years old! I should be able to go too!”

“Mary, we said no!” Connie said, her voice rising.

“I hate this stupid farm, and I hate you! You can’t keep me here forever!”

“You change that tone right now Maryanne, or I’m gonna get your father.”

Mary didn’t answer, effectively listening, Fin supposed. She stomped away, red faced and eyes brimming with tears as she began climbing the stairs to the rooftop.

“Do yourself a favor and don’t have kids; they all grow into teenagers,” Connie said to Fin exasperatedly.

“Spoiler alert,” Fin said smiling awkwardly, trying and failing to defuse some of the tension in the house.

Mary huffed away from both of them in disgust, stomping up the rest of the stairs. Dust and debris rained down on the two women beneath her.

Fin made the mistake of looking up toward the noise, grit getting into her eyes. “Look, I know I don’t have kids,” she said, rubbing at both of her eyes, “but having survived strict parents, I will say that caging children either kills their spirits or makes them wilder.” Fin paused to shake her hair out, before continuing, “I don’t think either extreme is particularly healthy.”

“And letting them loose will actually get them killed.” Connie laughed humorlessly. “It’s the wasteland; nothing is perfect here. You just… get by,” she said, her voice tired.

Fin didn’t ask the question she wanted to, knowing it was unfair: why they had kids in the first place if they couldn’t give them a better life? It was something she often wondered about all of the parents she knew in her own world; from the selfish ones that used their kids as pawns against an ex to the well intentioned ones whose kids were raised by daycare workers. Why bother?

The girls were well cared for, and Connie and Blake loved them. That was apparent; they did everything they could to keep them safe and fed, and they fought and teased the way most families did. But the lives of the girls resembled that of prisoners, toiling away in an endless routine of manual labor and chores on the tiny farm. Nothing bright on the horizon. Where was the fun, the joy that being a family should be?

Fin didn’t express any of this, simply changing the subject. “So, uh, what’s for dinner? I’ll take a bowl up to Mary,” she offered.

“Vegetable soup, same as always.” Connie sighed, her forehead creasing as she looked up toward the roof. “She’s probably not hungry after biting my head off,” Connie grumbled.

*

Fin hesitated at the top of the stairs, though she knew the despondent girl heard her. Mary’s back stiffened at the creaking steps but she didn’t look up. “I, uh, brought you some dinner,” Fin said quietly, approaching the girl.

Mary swiped one of her sleeves roughly across her eyes, turning away from Fin. “Why do you care? You’re leaving anyway,” she murmured, her voice quavery.

“I just want to make sure you eat, that’s how people take care of me when I’m sad,” Fin said quietly. “Usually with food I like, but…” _Apocalypse._ Mary didn’t move or say anything, so Fin set the bowl down in front of her before sitting down cross-legged next to her with her own bowl.

Fin didn’t disturb the silence, quietly eating her soup as she studied the wasteland in front of her. It wasn’t a particularly striking view, but at least it was panoramic. It reminded her of home. Not the cramped apartment squashed between hundreds of others, but Idaho’s hillsides in the summertime. It was the only time of year they weren’t beautiful.

Mary broke the silence though, her ragged voice barely discernable even in the quiet day. “I hate it here. There’s nothing to do, and the only person that ever comes by is Carla.” Mary rolled her puffy eyes. “I want friends, I want to see the city,” she sighed. 

Fin thought of how she’d grown up. She and her friends always made up their own adventures. They’d had the perfect stage. There were trees to climb, streams to wade through, and always animals to chase. And when they were older, Wesley saved up for a beat up, red Subaru Impreza, and the three of them could go into town on their own. She and Taylor would take turns riding shotgun, or else the girls would sit in the cramped backseat giggling, making a grumbling Wesley chauffeur them around. 

The children of the wasteland didn’t have the benefit of a childhood, not like Fin had. Mary and Lucy were never allowed to stray from sight, and only had each other as friends. They never enjoyed the prospect of going into town, or even to school, to break up the monotony of farm life. There were no stimulating diversions either; no books, no Wi-Fi, no board or video games, no musical instruments… Nothing. The wallpaper would be long stripped if this were Fin’s life.

But Fin wasn’t allowed to say that. Was she? _“Mary might still die,”_ she reminded herself. _“Standing up to raiders like she did before, probably coiled much too tightly.”_ But on the other hand, she had convinced Codsworth to help her be adventurous. Now he was gone. And if she encouraged Mary, what if the same happened to her?

She had scratched her nail too hard against the splintery wood, wincing when one of the splinters jabbed her finger. It jolted Fin from her thoughts. “You’ll be old enough someday right? It’s not forever,” she mumbled around the finger now in her mouth to stay the blood.

Mary sniffed, “That’s easy for you to say, you’ll be in Diamond City tomorrow.” She let out a long sigh. “They never listen or change their minds. It doesn’t matter what I do, they’ll never let me go.” Her voice was flat, defeated. “Life is so unbelievably dull. You were the most interesting thing to happen here, and now you’re leaving.” Her voice wavered but she went on, “And we didn’t even finish the story about Harry Potter.” At this, the teen began to sniffle slightly, turning her face away from Fin once more.

It was true, though Fin had really tried to get through the series before the end of the summer. Despite spinning the tale while the three of them worked in the garden, they had just barely made it to The Deathly Hallows. The trio would be stuck camping on the run until she came back. And if Fin died out there, then that would be it. The girls would never know what happened to the boy who lived. 

_Death at the claws and teeth of the wasteland…_ She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “When I come back, we’ll finish it,” Fin offered feebly. 

Mary stared vacantly ahead, eyes faraway on something Fin couldn’t see. “You won’t come back. I wouldn’t if I got away,” she murmured.

“If I’m alive,” Fin said grimly, “I’ll be back.” After a moment, she added, “Hopefully, with a bunch of people. You’ll be able to make some friends.”

Quick, little feet came bounding up the steps interrupting them. “What are you guys doing up here?” It was Lucy. She came crashing onto Fin’s back, throwing her arms around her neck. 

Fin’s brown eyes crinkled shut as she laughed quietly. “Being sad sacks. What are you doing, Lucy?” Fin asked, looking into the younger girl’s bright, freckled face.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t telling the story without me,” she said, her face becoming serious.

“Never, pequeñita. Did you finish your dinner?” Lucy nodded. “Well then, why don’t we see if we can at least get those three out of the Forest of Dean before I leave, huh?”

Seeing the girls’ expressions shift to ones of rapt joy listening to the tale, Fin decided it didn’t matter that she hadn’t found the right words for Mary. She would show them things could be better.

*

Their small caravan wound its way down toward Graygarden where they stopped for a quick lunch in the safety provided by the bustling bots. Fin pulled her Pip-Boy from her pack and Blake traced the path they would take on the screen. “Why don’t we just cross here?” she asked, gesturing toward the railroad bridge over the river. 

“Clarabell might have a hard time with that,” he said patting the brahmin lying next to him. The gentle creature looked toward him blandly, one head blinking slowly as the other chewed its cud. Pink, ragged skin rippled as flies buzzed around the creature, its tail lazily swatting them.

“Somebody should fix that so that brahmin can cross it,” Fin murmured almost to herself. Her fingers curled at her lips, the melon slice forgotten in the other hand, its juice steadily dripping down her wrist. 

Blake chuckled in response, “Yeah, guess somebody should. Finish your lunch, you’re makin’ a mess.”

Fin didn’t hear him though, already lost in thought. It had always driven her nuts in game that she could manage to cross the bridge as the player character, but her companions and the provisioners with their brahmin would have to swim across the river. 

With enough people, they could move that shipping container which would be the worst of it. Then it would just be a matter of putting down material solid enough to support a brahmin, that way they wouldn’t slip through the ties. But maybe she didn’t need people to move it though, maybe a handful of bots could do it…

Fin finished the last few bites of melon and tossed the rind away. Dusting her hands together to try to dispel some of the stickiness, she stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

Blake gave her a mildly curious look, but didn’t reply as he finished the rest of his melon slice and began checking the straps on Clarabell. Fin approached the bots that were busy at the mutfruit plants. Their pincers were a blur; trimming and weeding with such speed and precision a human could never hope to replicate the movements. She approached a bot that stood out from the others. Rather than the silver chrome usual of the Mister Handy bots, he was a deep, olive green. 

“Supervisor Greene,” she said, catching herself too late. She looked behind her toward Blake but he didn’t appear to have heard, still busy testing the load that Clarabell carried. 

“Step right up, miss! Would you like to see what fabulous prizes we have available?” the bot said in a hammy voice.

Laughing slightly, Fin knew the deal. “You sound like a game show host.”

“You are absolutely right! And that makes you the winner! Would our lovely contestant like to see what she’s won?”

Barely containing her laughter Fin simply replied, “Sure.” The bot sped off toward the rusted out frame of a car, and she followed, giving a confused looking Blake a shrug and a smile.

“It’s a brand new car! However, if you already have the latest in sleek atomic-powered automation, you can also take your winnings in the form of a cash prize!”

Pretending to consider the car, it was a moment before she replied, “I think I’ll take the cash prize.”

“Very well, a hundred caps it is!”

Fin frowned before glancing over at the car. “A hundred caps in exchange for a whole car?” Ok, a whole car was a bit of an overstatement, but the bot didn’t seem to notice its abysmal state anyway. “That doesn’t seem very fair.”

Without missing a beat, the enthusiastic bot exclaimed, “Our contestant is absolutely right! What a winning streak! One hundred fifty caps then, for our plucky contestant!”

At this point, Blake joined her, his brow creased as he listened to the conversation. Not wanting to push her luck, Fin nodded, “Alright, sounds good to me!”

With that, the bot zoomed into the greenhouse, bustling about for a moment before returning with a large satchel held in his pincer. Blake’s eyes widened as the bot placed the hefty satchel into Fin’s hand. She grinned slyly at Blake, bouncing the heavy satchel as much as she could in her palm. It was sorely tempting to just pocket the caps and be on her way. It would certainly give her a leg up in the city. _“More caps can be made though,”_ she told herself resolutely. Aloud, she said, “Supervisor Greene, let’s make a deal.”

“I like it! What does our winner have in mind?” 

“You guys seem really strong, working on a farm and all. Could I hire you to move that train car over there? Let’s say… a hundred caps?” 

Supervisor Greene turned, a faint whirring emanating from his eye stalks as he zoomed in on the train car. Turning back to her, he replied, “A hundred caps for moving a whole train car? Our winner is going to have to do better than that!”

Fin couldn’t help chuckling at the irony. “You are absolutely right,” she laughed, mirroring his words from earlier. “How about a hundred fifty caps?” she held the satchel back out to him.

He blinked a couple of times considering the offer. “You’ve got yourself a deal!” Blake looked incredulous as the bot snatched the bag back. After tucking it away in the greenhouse, Supervisor Greene raised a pincer to non-existent lips and let out a sharp whistle. “Graygarden, we’ve got a job to do!” 

With that proclamation, all of the bots began to file behind him as he led the way across the railroad bridge. Fin and Blake watched as in no time, the train car was pushed from the bridge, landing with an enormous splash in the river below. 

All of the bots whizzed back to the settlement, immediately resuming their tasks. “Wow, you guys made that look so easy!” Fin said as Supervisor Greene approached her.

“I’m glad you’re happy with our deal!” he replied before settling back to work at the mutfruit plants.

Fin turned to Blake, “There, the hard part’s done at least. When I come back, maybe we can put down some boards, and then it’ll be a straight shot instead of hiking down the hill and winding around.”

Blake shook his head slightly, at a loss. “You shoulda kept the caps. How does that benefit you? You don’t even have brahmin.”

“Someday I might. We plant seeds because we have hope for tomorrow. You’re a farmer.” After considering, she added, “And you have children. Who knows that better than you? And besides, lots of opportunity for work in the city.” Fin shrugged, “I can make more caps.”

Blake continued to stare at her, his gaze appraising before he chuckled, “Can’t say I don’t think you’re crazy, but you’ve got a good heart. That’s more than just about anyone woulda done,” he said his hand sweeping toward the train tracks.

“‘Meddling when you don’t need to is the essence of being a hero.’ A man I look up to said that... Toshinori Yagi. Although I wouldn’t say this was particularly heroic.”

“Heh, well c’mon hero,” he teased, clapping her shoulder before taking Clarabell’s guide rope.

Having lingered at the robotic settlement long enough, they continued their journey. They hiked down the hill and started to cross the bridge to Beantown Brewery. They didn’t make it very far though. 

Fin’s heart sped up at the group of men loitering on the bridge. But Blake didn’t seem surprised by their presence. Although, the lack of response in him did nothing to quell that bone deep fear. Not that it should; the world from two different lenses.

The way they leered at her and not Blake reiterated that fact. As a rule, Fin never made eye contact with men out and about. It didn’t take much to “invite” their unwanted attentions. Her pretty face was usually enough.

Hanging back with her eyes averted, she anxiously picked at her cuticles as Blake wordlessly handed over a little satchel of caps. The bridge troll towered over Blake. Reddish face paint circled his eyes and ran in three lines from his bottom lip to his chin. For a moment, Fin wondered if it was blood. The paint was dry though, and still red. Even knowing it wasn’t blood, the bridge troll was still quite menacing. But Fin supposed that was the point.

He dumped the caps into his grubby palm, taking a little too long to count them out. “It’s 15 now,” he grunted finally.

“It’s always been 10,” Blake protested his mouth thinning until it disappeared in his rusty beard. Several guns cocked in response and sufficiently quashed whatever other objections he might have voiced. Fin tugged at the sleeve bunched around Blake’s elbow and silently handed him 5 caps she fished from the technicolor fanny pack at her waist. _Better to play nice._

The troll nodded. Clarabell lowed as Blake pulled the guide rope. Fin made to follow and nearly ran into the arm suddenly barring her path. “15 caps for him. I didn’t say nothin’ ’bout you, sweetheart.” 

Her eyes flit from the troll’s painted face over to Blake’s anxious one and back down to the arm staying her. Course hair grew in the few patches without any scars. “But hey,” he leered down into her face, trying to catch her eyes. “Your friend’s a good customer, and I’m a nice guy. Give us a smile and we’ll call it good.”

Ammo was as much as Fin had budgeted for travel. She thought longingly of the satchel of caps she’d paid the robots. More than enough to afford her pride. Sparing 20 caps for this though… that was out of the question. 

Which left…

A grimace pulled at her tight lips. It was as close as she could get to a smile, which was more than he deserved. _Self preservation._

Delight lit his gloating face. Unlike Fin, he smiled with all his teeth. Every rotten one. After a moment, he lifted his arm to let her pass. 

“Hey,” he said as she took a couple tentative steps. Fin’s back stiffened and she stopped. “Ain’t leavin’ without sayin’ thank you, are ya sweetheart?” 

Her eyelashes fluttered and she took a deep breath through her nose, ignoring the ripples of laughter around her. Her smile twisted tight to batten down the rage. Turning, Fin spoke clearly. “Thank you,” she said, her dark eyes finally finding his among the paint. 

“One that actually listens!” His harsh laughter joined his mates. “Lucky man,” he said, leering toward Blake. “’Bout time you traded in that old sow.”

An angry flush mottled Blake’s cheeks, nearly matching the red of his beard. His hand twitched at the pistol on his hip. This was lost on Fin however as the troll sent her on her way with a smart smack on the ass. She swallowed a surprised squeak but still jumped at the contact. The raiders burst with laughter as she hurried toward Blake.

The troll sated, all that was left was to skirt a couple of his minions and disappear into the forest. Two men sat in fraying folding chairs in the parking lot drinking among empty beer bottles. Their stares followed Fin more closely than her shadow. She could feel them crawling over her body. 

If it was possible to make such a distinction, the filthier of the two threw a bottle toward the small caravan, almost falling over for his efforts, to the laughter of the other. Spurred on by his friend, he grinned with the few teeth he had and threw another bottle toward them.

“Shit I threw my beer!”

This time, his friend’s laughter did not amuse him. As if it were their fault, he pulled his pipe pistol from his waistband, letting off a few bleary shots more or less in their direction. Fin startled, wondering what it felt like to be shot. None of the shots came close to hitting the small party, but thankfully Clarabell felt some urgency at the ruckus.

“You paid them and they still shoot at you?” Fin scoffed. That was bullshit. 

“Don’t matter. Drunk as they always are, they can’t shoot for shit.”

_That’s not the point._

Blake changed the subject as they delved into the woods along the riverbank. “Everything looks the same in the wasteland. Easy to get lost,” he said, glancing toward Fin. “Your best bet is to keep to the roads when you can.” 

He wasn’t exaggerating. Each burnt out tree stump looked like the next. While the sun shone bright and fierce today, it wasn’t a reliable point of reference, not with how commonplace rolling fogs were in Boston. If not for the river and the Pip-Boy, it would only be a matter of time before Fin lost her way.

Emerging from the desolate woods, they reconnected with the road. “Stay alert, this is where it gets dangerous,” Blake warned her, his revolver held at the ready.

“I can’t believe you make this trek by yourself,” Fin said, following behind him, wraithlike, hardly making any noise at all. Though, it really didn’t matter; brahmin weren’t exactly stealthy creatures. 

“I’m never by myself, I got Clarabell,” Blake said, his tone matter of fact. 

“ _That’s almost worse_ ,” Fin thought to herself, as the brahmin lowed. Clarabell crashed through any brush or rubbish in their way, sending rusted cans skittering across the pavement. Fin felt like they may as well ring the dinner bell. 

The crowding skyscrapers suffocated her. Fin hated not being able to see the horizon. She nervously looked around at the ruined buildings towering over them, wondering how many eyes were watching the little party’s progress. 

Her brown eyes never stopped moving, gliding over the graffiti covered storefronts, looking for even the slightest sign of movement in the dark windows. It wasn’t until they rounded the corner of a brick building that something finally caught her eye. The side of the building was blank except for a small, crisp, white square in the center, standing in stark contrast to the brick. Inside the square, were the words:

**Where**

**+**

**When**

She almost wrote it off as an ancient query, written by someone long dead. But the white was just too clean, too fresh. “ _And with the plus sign in the center, it almost looks like a railsign_ …” she mused, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. After that first one, Fin began to notice that they were everywhere, some in impossible places. How had he gotten up there?

Most of the neatly stenciled paint had responding graffiti painted over it, making them easy to miss. The wittier responses being things like “you wish” and “your ass, tonight”, though for the most part, crude outlines of dicks marred the clear message. Home, the Commonwealth, Pompeii... Fin shook her head. _The human race really doesn’t change._

“Have these always been here, Blake?” she asked aloud, gesturing toward the paint.

Blake glanced at the message. “Can’t say I noticed ’em last time I passed through. Probably just crazy raiders, high out of their gourds,” he said dismissively. “C’mon, we’re almost there.”

“Yeah, ok,” Fin said, though she looked thoughtful. She would need to come up with a way to contact her new friend again.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish in this chapter:  
> Eso no va pegar - essentially "that's not gonna fly" literally "that won't hit"
> 
> If you've made it this far, thank you so much!! I hope you're enjoying the story. I'm going to try to update every two weeks. See you soon!


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